


Paloma Negra

by pastmybedtime



Category: Grim Fandango
Genre: Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Angst, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-01-23 15:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12510888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastmybedtime/pseuds/pastmybedtime
Summary: The memory of him brought a small amount of comfort, and that was in tremendously short supply these days. Meche's journey through "Grim Fandango."





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> i'm pretty sure that there are already a few fics out there with this same premise, but Grim Fandango is one of my all time fave games and Meche is a queen and absolutely the master of her destiny and hero of her story, and i'm excited to explore her more.
> 
> the title "Paloma Negra" means "black dove" and is based on the song sung by Chavela Vargas (written by Tomas Mendez).
> 
> thanks for reading, and enjoy!!

_((art by me, but based off of an existing print of Manny!!))_

 

It was the music that let Meche know she had found civilization.

She recognized the screams of demons, the sound of the wind cutting through the barren branches, and every other squelching, sinister, horrible sound associated with the Petrified Forest. And better yet, she knew exactly how to avoid becoming a spider’s dinner or a demon’s plaything simply by relying on her instincts—the ones she’d spent her entire afterlife cultivating.

It had taken quite a few narrow escapes for Meche to finally get the hang of survival after death. In her earlier months of the journey, she tried to take comfort in the fact that she’d already died, and the worst was over.

She soon discovered that there were plenty of things in this new world willing to prove her wrong.

It was one twilit evening that she trekked through the prickly brush, ankles throbbing and bones quivering. She leaned heavily on her walking stick—which also doubled as what she used to fight off the spiders that liked to crawl around her as she slept—and stopped for a moment to listen to the light sound of trickling notes in the distance. It was not the scream of a bat, nor the whisperings of a demon asking for a taste of her bone. If Meche still had her ears, they’d be straining to recognize the tune.

As she listened hard and walked forward, Meche could distinctly hear the silky notes of jazz and felt a low pounding through the ground reminiscent of a heartbeat. As she rounded the crest of a hill, she found that she was standing above a sea of glimmering lights. A city sat right at the edge of the water, seductive pinks and royal purples reflecting off the surface like neon stars. Buildings and boats rose up out of the water, and the clear resonance of music carried over on the salty breeze. A sign proclaimed, “Welcome to Rubacava.”

Meche’s knees buckled, and if it was out of exhaustion or relief, she couldn’t be sure. She didn’t think she’d ever make it through the forest on her own, and yet, there were the city lights to prove it. She drank in the sights—even in the Land of the Living she couldn’t remember being exposed to this much glitz and glamour—and it was then that she saw a familiar name brandishing the tallest structure in the town below:

_CALAVERA CAFE_

“Manny?” she said, the word strange on her metaphorical tongue. Realistically, the place could have been named for someone completely different from her travel agent, but even so. Meche had only known the man for a few short minutes, certainly not enough to make a good judgement of his character. But Manny’s had been the first friendly face she’d seen after she’d died, and she remembered the ease in his voice, the determination of his fingers on the keyboard as he made an attempt to get her the best travel package he could, even though she had opted to walk instead. She realized that compassion, or at least the show of it, was all part of his job and that there was very little chance that if he was here, he’d remember her.

Regardless, the memory of him brought a small amount of comfort, and that was in tremendously short supply these days.


	2. The Domino Effect

For whatever reason, Meche thought that Rubacava would be, in a word, _hopping_. Maybe it was the beckoning lights or the trickle of jazz, but in her life Meche hardly had time to be enchanted by the bustle of a big city. Most of her time had been dedicated to volunteer work; homeless shelters, orphanages, and places that usually didn’t sport flashing neon signs. Now she was standing in the hub of casinos, clubs, and cruise ships, worse for wear but still in the heart of the thrill. The pulse of the music was deceptive, however, for Meche couldn’t see another soul around to enjoy it.

She stumbled up the stone steps, amazed that her heels hadn’t broken yet, and slipped into the entryway. She felt the unfamiliar plush of the carpet underneath her shoes and stepped cautiously forward. “Hello?” she asked.

“Hiya! Can I help you?”

Meche jumped at the sound of another voice—a _voice._ Of another _person._ She noticed a desk at the far end of the room, and that’s where a petite skeleton wearing a feathered hat popped up like a daisy in Spring. “Name’s Lupe. Need me to grab your coat?” the girl prompted cheerily.

Meche must have been staring for quite some time, culture-shocked, but finally forced herself to form some sort of reply. “N-no. No coat.” Even her own voice sounded foreign.

The girl seemed disappointed. “Bummer. I really wanted to give the new system a go.”

“Would it help if I gave you my hat?”

Lupe smiled and waved her hand. “Nah, you better keep it. No offense, miss, but you look like you’ve been through the mill, if you know what I mean.”

Meche looked down at her clothes, torn to shreds, noting the black grime clinging to the once-white of her bone. She played with a loose thread dangling from the edge of her sleeve before snapping it off. “I…yes, I suppose you could say that.”

“Well, if you don’t got a coat, can I direct you to…a place to stay, maybe? Maybe get some rest? Not many souls around, it being the holiday and all. Then again, whoever’s not visiting the Land of the Living this time of year usually finds their way to the bar, so maybe you won’t be as alone as you thought.”

“Holiday?” repeated Meche.

“You know… _the_ holiday? The Day of the Dead?”

Meche froze. Was it really _Dia De Los Muertos_ already? How had time flown by like that? It seemed like only yesterday she’d come to this terrible place, and today marked the anniversary.

“Miss?” said Lupe with a note of uncertainty. “Are you, uh…is there something else I can help you with?”

Meche straightened herself up to her full height. “Yes, I’m looking for Mr. Calavera,” she said firmly, pushing past the slight tremble in her voice. If anyone would know anything, it would be someone who had worked in the Department of Death. “Manny Calavera. Does he…work here?”

“Work here?” Lupe let out a little snort, and when Meche stared she caught herself. “Oh, sorry! I just meant that the guy kind of owns the place.”

Meche wasn’t sure that she had a physical heart anymore, but she knew for certain that something was pounding against her chest cavity. Perhaps it wasn’t the heart, but the soul that recreated all the feelings of life fluttering around inside. “Is he here?” she asked. “Please, I need to speak with him.”

Lupe paused to look Meche up and down, an expression of what might have been recognition glinting in her hollowed eyes, a sly grin pricking the corner of her mouth. “Well, the boss doesn’t usually like to mingle with the customers but…I’m sure he’d make an exception for _you,_ sister.” She punctuated this with a wink and slipped around the desk to make her way upstairs.

Lupe continued to wink, and wink, and wink, all the way up the staircase until she had disappeared around the bend. Meche remained glued where she was, suddenly more nervous than she’d been in a long while. She was brimming with questions that demanded answers, and the thought of seeing a familiar face made her dizzy.

Or maybe it was the exhaustion finally hitting her like a grand piano.

She glanced around, not seeing any chairs in sight, and was overcome with the urge to slump right onto the carpet. How long had she been standing here? Five minutes or five hours? And if Manny really was here, why was he taking his sweet time coming down? Too busy running a luxurious gambling hub, most likely. The more Meche saw—the crystal chandelier, the lavish décor—the more she hardened. It was almost absurd; standing in such a luxurious room when hours before, she had been digging herself out of a tar pit. It seemed like her travel agent had made quite a name for himself, and with all his resources and wealth, he couldn’t have taken a minute to make sure one of his clients was doing all right. She’d wandered the Petrified Forest for a whole _year_ , utterly alone and abandoned.

Lupe had mentioned a bar nearby—maybe Meche could slip down, grab a drink, and be back before she was missed. The man could come and find her if he gave a damn at all.

“I was wondering when I’d run into you, Miss Colomar,” said a voice like silk.

Meche started at the sound of her name and turned to look at the man who was leaning in the doorway. He wore a self-assured grin and a suit that looked like it had been specifically tailored to accentuate his broad shoulders. It wasn’t Manny, which frightened her since she hadn’t given her name to any other soul.

“How—?” she began, not even sure what she intended to ask.

The man came right over, no hesitation, and reached out to take her hand. She could see a pair of black marks inked against the back of his bone: a pair of dominoes. Was he a gambling man? “Miss Colomar,” he said, “I’m Domino Hurley with the Department of Death in El Marrow. I’ve been looking for you for a long time.”

“What happened?” she found herself asking. The lights were far too bright, and the constant music drifting up from below tugged at her attention. Something rattled, something clinked, and the overall richness of the place completely overwhelmed and overstimulated her senses. The tremble in her knees was apparent, and her mistrust for him was countered with a splash of relief.

“There will be time for questions,” he said protectively, arm steadying her suddenly shaky stance. Meche did not recoil, but melted into the stranger’s arms. He was there, and he was solid. She almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. Here was her knight, come to rescue her. “Why don’t we go get you a meal and a hot shower, some clean clothes, and some rest?” he asked.

Meche would have willingly traded her soul for a bed to sleep in. “I…I was going to speak with Mr. Calavera,” she said, but even as the words left her mouth she felt ridiculous. The rich drapery and tapestries rushed past in a blur of color, and for a moment she knew she would have fallen over if she wasn’t already braced against the strange man’s torso.

Sensing her hesitation, Mr. Hurley tightened his grip around her shoulders. “I recommend staying as far away from that man as you can, Miss Colomar. But don’t you worry. I’ve been assigned to fix this.”

Meche sighed, head falling against the man’s chest, and let him lead her out of the entryway and back out into the cold. This was all so…easy.

* * *

“Feeling better?”

Meche buttoned the top of her jacket, marveling at the feeling of clean fabric against her polished bone. It had been the best shower of her life, or death for that matter. Being dead may have had its perks in terms of…well, not dying from injury or starvation. But Meche soon found out that she still grew phantom hunger pains and felt the scratching of thirst in her throat however deep in the Land of the Dead she was.

“Yes,” Meche said gratefully. “Thank you, Mr. Hurley.”

Domino reclined in his chair, nodding. The hotel lobby was empty save for them. “My pleasure,” he said, so charming she may have blushed under different circumstances. Meche started to sit in the chair across from him, but he was already making his way to a standing position. “I’d say it’s time to get you out of here.”

Meche took the arm he offered, albeit uncertainly. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“I’m here to personally escort you to your final reward, of course,” he told her, starting to move towards the exit, but Meche planted her feet.

“Back at the DOD, your agent said there was nothing for me,” she said.

“The agent responsible for that mix-up has been fired,” said Domino smoothly. “Now, please Miss Colomar, the ship will be leaving soon. If you’ll just follow me…”

Meche couldn’t say why, but something felt a bit off about the urgency in his voice. Maybe her mind had grown less fuzzy since being fed and cleaned. It would be so easy to let Mr. Hurley take care of her, of everything, but she couldn’t ignore the churning sensation in her non-existent gut.

“Wait,” she said before she could stop herself, “I want answers.”

Domino stopped and stared at her, eye sockets blank and void of charm. The tense moment passed quickly, however, and he covered it with a lighthearted laugh. “All right, then,” he said, and pivoted to take Meche back into the hotel and down a flight of stairs. She breathed a sigh of relief as they entered a dark room pulsing with blues and jazz, and he ushered her onto a bar stool. Meche could safely say that in her life, she had never been in a club.

Death was full of surprises.

She was so busy taking in the room that she hardly noticed when Domino put in their drink orders. A martini slid in front of her, sparkling and clear, and she immediately took a sip to calm her raging nerves. Then she took another. Damn, she wasn’t sure how this alcohol was running through her, but she was not about to question the delightful buzz spreading through her fingertips. A few more of these and maybe the horrible memories of the past year would fade into a dull roar.

“Why didn’t someone find me sooner?” Meche suddenly asked, fueled by the drink and the irritation bubbling up like champagne. “Forget Calavera, but _someone_ in your department must have known I needed help.”

Domino took a small sip of his whiskey without taking his eyes off her. “Believe me, I looked up and down for you. When I’d heard you’d disappeared into the Petrified Forest…” he whistled through his teeth, “…let’s just say I didn’t think you’d be in one piece when I found you.”

Meche swallowed the last few drops of her martini and set the glass on the bar with a little too much force. It was almost nice to feel something other than terror. Anger would have to do. The bartender poured Meche another martini, clear liquid bubbling around the olive.

“Neither did I,” she said honestly, taking a drink to chase away whatever was clawing at the forefront of her mind.

“Can’t imagine."

“Do you know what the worst part was, Mr. Hurley?” Meche asked, popping the olive in her mouth. “It wasn’t the giant spiders or the beavers snapping at my heels. Those could be avoided if you weren’t stupid about where you stepped. But did you know that there’s a demon living in that forest who _eats_ fear? He kept me locked up in a lovely little cage for two days until I didn’t have the energy to be afraid anymore. He wasn’t something I could just step over.”

Domino watched her with his black eyes.

“No comment, hm?” Meche said, finishing her drink in one gulp. This ended up being a terrible idea, because the room swayed dangerously, and her stomach lurched like a racehorse at the starting line. The feeling rekindled the memory of her days working at the Sunrise Clinic when a well-meaning but ignorant patron gave a little starving boy a very rich pudding to eat. The boy promptly threw it up, his stomach unable to handle the sugars yet, and Meche remembered having to explain to the angry gentleman that a starving child can’t just scarf down something that heady before he’s well.

Meche stopped moving, afraid to push herself further than she’d already have in her weakened state. When she was confident she could speak again without anything coming up, she finished her thought, “You people at the DOD don’t seem to be the sympathetic types.”

“Miss Colomar,” insisted Domino, “I can guarantee that none of this would have happened if Calavera hadn’t snatched you out from under me.”

“Why did he do it?”

“The guy’s always wanted success—my commissions—and he does whatever it takes to get it. There’s a reason I didn’t want you going into that crooked casino of his.”

“So, you’ve known him a long time?”

Domino grinned down at her. “Mercedes—may I call you that?—Mercedes, Manny Calavera is nothing but a jealous slime ball. He wanted my biggest client, and when you ran off, he stopped pushing. I was the one scrambling to pick up the pieces.” Domino knocked back the rest of his drink in one impatient swig and pushed it away with an air of finality. “It’s as simple as that, kid. The man ain’t worth your time.”

Meche pushed away her own glass, sighing. “Do I strike you as… _easy,_ Mr. Hurley?”

She thought she caught him glance down, but it was hard to read facial expressions nowadays. “What makes you say that?”

It was too late to stop the flow of words. “Ever since I got here, I’ve felt like a piece of fresh meat,” she said, tracing a wet spot on the bar. Why was she telling him all this? Her brain felt foggy all of a sudden, and it had nothing to do with the lingering haze of cigarette smoke around the bar. It wasn’t like she’d met many faces she could trust.

“Don’t you worry, Mercedes,” Domino said, so sincerely Meche had no choice to trust him. “Now. Are you ready to get out of here?”

They went to the docks arm-in-arm, since Meche was still painfully unsteady on her feet, their reflections rippling in the black waters. The neon CALAVERA sign wavered between the waves, but it soon disappeared to make room for a great ship bobbing in the sea. Meche had to crane her neck up to see that the ship was named the S.S. Lambada. It was—she had no other word for it— _massive._ It stretched far beyond the length of the dock and past the edge of the town, its bright square windows glinting along the sleek exterior. She’d never seen a cruise ship this extravagantly large.

“All aboard,” Domino muttered, his skull lowered so it brushed against hers. “Next stop, the Edge of the World.”

“You mean the Ninth Underworld,” she said.

He laughed out loud at that. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

Meche froze right down to her marrow and dug in her heels. “What—?”

Domino’s grip suddenly tightened around her wrists like iron cuffs, and he began to pull her towards the ramp leading up onto the ship. “No need to struggle, that’s only gonna make it worse, sweetheart.”

Meche slipped right into survival mode, throwing her body weight against his massive chest and lashing out well-aimed kicks, but Domino was just too broad and much too strong. “You _snake!”_ she growled, fire burning through her limbs, and when she managed to yank one of her hands free, she decked him.

Domino stumbled backwards, stretching his jaw, but it wasn’t enough to break away. “You’re a little firecracker, aren’t you?” he snarled between his teeth as they stumbled up the incline—Meche only just realizing that they’d entered the ship through a side entrance, probably so he could drag her on without drawing attention. Domino pulled her through the depths of the ship, past mountains of cargo and through what looked like it could have been a small wine cellar. Meche’s thrashing hands snagged a cold bottle of champagne off a cart, hoping to use it as a weapon, before she felt a sudden jolt, and realized that the ship was moving.

“What do you want with me?” she demanded, spirits sinking rapidly as the lights of Rubacava blurred by the open doorway. The great metal beast shuddered and continued on.

“Bait, mostly,” Domino said, loosening his grip on her as the ramp successfully moved past the docks. “My boss is opening up a brand-new branch, and Calavera’s on the list for the manager job.” In response to Meche’s murderous look, he chuckled, “He wouldn’t have come along if I’d just _asked_ him.”

Domino dropped her hand completely, all illusion of warmth gone, and she watched his back disappear down the long, metal hallway. “Don’t worry, sweet cheeks. You’ll be in good company for the long ride over.”

Meche swayed where she stood, temples pounding with a fury she’d never experienced while Domino swaggered away. Her bones trembled, her insides churned, and the buzz she’d acquired from all those drinks was quickly making it hard to see her surroundings clearly.

How could she have been so _stupid?_

Before she could move, before she could scream or cry or curse the son of a bitch to the lowest level of the underworld, a loud _BUMP_ jerked her out of her thoughts. Meche whirled around to see that something—or someone—was hanging off the ramp just outside the open door. At first, she thought she was seeing things, after all, the ship was impossibly tall and well away from the docks. But as she looked closer, Meche could make out the distinct skull markings, the angular features, the bony hands scrambling to climb up…

It was Manny, and he was dangling off the edge of the ship.

Meche wasn’t entirely sure why she did what she did next. Maybe it was a healthy mixture of surprise and panic layered and served over ice. One thing Meche knew for certain was that she couldn’t let Domino Hurley win his little game.

As the two locked eyes and recognition flooded Manny’s features, Meche took the bottle she’d been holding and lobbed it right at Manny’s head. It wasn’t hard—he did have a pretty big head—and the glass collided with a resounding _TINK_ sound. Manny grunted in pain, slipped, and splashed down into the black waters below.

Even if she had done it out of desperation or drunkenness, it was more comforting to know that at least Manny would be safe. Even if he was a cheating scumbag like Domino claimed, it was starting to look like Domino’s word was as good as twice-boiled shit.

As Rubacava disappeared into the night and her only means of salvation thrashed in the waters below, Meche’s knees buckled and floor rose up to meet her. She slammed her palms onto the cold metal, shaking, sloshed, and she squeezed her eyes shut against the burning sensation crawling up her throat.

For the first time in a long while, Meche cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm loving writing this, Meche5eva.
> 
> i originally wanted to go a little more in-depth with Meche's time in the Petrified Forest, but i think the more we wonder about it, the scarier it is. i did sprinkle in a scenario/encounter with a demon i imagined Meche having, and the strength of character it must have taken for her to get out all on her own is incredible. poor best girl. no wonder she can't trust no bitch.
> 
> thank you for reading, and thanks to my lovely beta reader for her mcfreakin help.
> 
> let's get on with this~


	3. Razzle Dazzle

Meche didn’t leave her room for days.

She spent most of her time watching the waves bob by the window, reading through the small selection from the shelf in the corner, or rearranging the furniture until her joints ached from pushing the heavy chairs and desks around. It wasn’t like Domino could let her roam the ship and mingle with the other passengers—she would most certainly cause trouble—so he kept her in the room adjoining his. When he’d locked her door the first night, Domino had given her the option to explore the ship to her heart’s content so long as she played the part of Mrs. Hurley, his loving wife.

She’d refused, of course, and had been stuck in this box ever since.

Meche supposed it could have been worse: Domino could have made her share _his_ room. The thought sickened her, and even though he barged in her space without ever knocking, it was better than waiting for him to come to bed every night.

Meche sank onto the edge of her mattress and slipped into wondering about that last night in Rubacava. Why had Manny been so desperate to get on the ship? He could have been looking to turn Meche in for that big, fat commission she was apparently worth. Or maybe she was his last chance of getting reinstated in the DOD. Either way, Domino had cast her in the part of “bait”, and Manny had taken it without a second thought. She must have been doing something right.

A soft knock disrupted her reverie. “Miss?” came a voice. “Your breakfast.”

Meche smoothed the wrinkles in her skirt and went to the door. “Come in,” she said.

The lock _clicked_ and in stepped Baxter, a round-backed butler with markings on his skull that were reminiscent of a curled mustache. He carried a sparkling silver tray and set it on the writing desk with a kind smile. “Sleep well, Miss Meche?”

“Yes,” she lied. “What’s the news abovedeck?”

“Same old, miss,” Baxter replied, following their usual script. Today Baxter improvised a little, saying, “Captain thinks we’ll be in Puerto Zapato within a few weeks.”

Meche sighed. _Weeks?_ She wasn’t sure that she could stay in her cabin for another day without going insane _._ “What’s in Puerto Zapato?”

“Oh, lots of cold, miss. Better enjoy the sunshine while you can.” Baxter seemed to read her look of gloom and added, “Still haven’t got your sea legs, eh?”

That’s right. Domino must have been spreading the news that his dear wife was too sick to leave her room. “Apparently not,” Meche said.

Baxter clucked sympathetically. “I’m sure there will be plenty of time for you to enjoy the cruise, miss. Your husband mentioned he’d love your company at the gala tonight, provided you feel well enough to go.”

Meche clenched her teeth, but she passed it off as a light chuckle. Domino’s message was clear: she could leave the cabin if she played nice and kept quiet tonight. She stole a glance past Baxter’s head and through the open doorway. From here she could just see the corner of the royal blue carpet and rich wood-paneled walls lining the hallway and suppressed the sudden urge to bolt to freedom. From what Baxter had described to her, the ship was unlike any she’d ever voyaged on. It was like its own little town—its own extravagantly wealthy little town that included pool spots, a spa, boutiques, a casino, two bars, multiple restaurants, a ballroom, and the list went on.

At this point her cabin fever was raging so fiercely that she’d even consider being wed to Domino Hurley if it meant she could step out of her plush prison.

“I’ve brought you some hot ginger tea to go along with your breakfast, Miss Meche,” Baxter continued. “Supposed to help with seasickness and all that.”

Meche looked down at the breakfast tray, softening at the sight of the steaming mug. She quickly wiped the corner of her eye.

“You’re very kind to me,” Meche said quietly.

Baxter took her hand, expression gentle if not a bit puzzled. He simply had no idea how his presence was giving her strength, even if it was in doses. 

* * *

It was dinnertime when Domino burst unceremoniously through the door.

“There’s my girl!” he said, arms spread wide as though expecting a round of applause.

Meche didn’t look up from her book— _Moby Dick,_ painfully dull, but it was better than giving him an ounce of attention. As she kept her gaze locked downwards, the tips of his shiny shoes poked through her circle of vision.

“You seen the deck yet, Mercedes?” Domino asked, all genuine excitement.

“We both know you’re the only one with the room key,” Meche replied.

“Hey, Baxter’s got one too. I ain’t gonna let you starve, what kind of monster do you think I am?”

“The kind who wears the wrong tie with the wrong shirt.”

He chortled at her quip, but didn’t react beyond that. Without asking first (although he never did), Domino strolled over to her closet and flung it open, rifling through all the clothes she never would have picked out herself. He’d had them all delivered from the boutique on board, and Meche couldn’t help but imagine how much each exquisite piece must have cost. Enough to feed an entire block, she thought.

After shifting through the wire hangers, Domino tossed a cocktail dress onto the mattress: red. Not her color, at least it hadn’t been when she had flesh on her bone. There was no way he could have known that, but even so.

“You gonna be good tonight, or would you rather I stick you in a broom closet?” Domino asked.

“Would the captain allow that?” she countered easily.

Domino chortled. “Me and him have a little arrangement. He doesn’t seem to mind what I do around here anymore."

He liked to think he was more menacing than he was, but there was no question that money must have passed between hands somewhere. Meche wouldn’t have put it past him to bribe someone—or multiple someones—not to ask questions about the situation.

“I can’t show up to the gala without my lady, all right?” He tapped his foot impatiently. “Come on, Mercedes. Anything out there’s gonna be a lot more exciting than anything in here.”

Meche acted like she was considering it, although she already knew her answer. If she played her cards right, maybe she could make a friend or two. If she was good, or at least held the appearance of goodness, she’d have a chance at rescue somewhere down the line.

It was worth a shot, anyway.

“I’ll change,” Meche said at last. “But you need to leave.”

Domino shrugged and, like a gentleman, slipped away to give Meche her privacy. She could see his feet blocking out the light from under the door.

“Repeat after me, Mrs. Hurley,” she heard him say, voice muffled. _“Good evening.”_

Meche stepped into a pair of dark silk stockings, slightly skeptical. _“Good evening,”_ she echoed.

“Yup. That’s the only thing you say tonight unless I prompt you, _capiche?_ Hubby’s gonna be doing all the talking, so don’t you worry your pretty little head.”

Meche finished dressing and stepped out to join Domino in the hallway. His hand went immediately to her waist, pressing her flush against his side. It didn’t matter, she thought, so long as she got just one taste of the salty sea air.

* * *

Never had Meche been so wrapped in such opulence. Domino ushered her quickly past the other passengers towards the ballroom, across hardwood floors, and under crystal chandeliers. Meche craned her neck up to soak in all the elegance, hardly minding that Domino had glued himself to her side. At least then she could use him as a means of balance as she took in all the sights.

The murmur of conversations accompanied the voluptuous jazz numbers floating out from the live stage. The couple wove their way around elegant souls in tuxedos and women in extravagant purple gowns that floated by like ghosts. A smart-dressed man from across the room nodded when he saw Domino, who raised his hand in a gracious wave.

“Let’s see that pretty smile,” Domino hissed onto Meche’s neck. She swallowed the urge to step on his foot and channeled it into a passable grimace as the stranger approached them; a lady wearing a sophisticated black dress hung on his arm like a fine accessory.

“Domino,” boomed the man, reaching out to shake his bony hand. “A pleasure, as always. Good to see your lady is feeling well enough to leave her room.”

“The pleasure is all mine, captain,” replied Domino smoothly, nudging Meche in the ribcage. “Darling, this is Captain Montego and his wife Maria.”

“Good evening,” Meche said on command, just as a butler ghosted by with a tray of champagne flutes. The captain took two, handing one to his wife, and Domino mimicked the gesture. Meche took hers, but didn’t drink. She’d learned to keep a clear head around her captor.

“So, Mercedes,” began Maria, tilting her head in polite interest, “Your husband tells me you two married recently.”

Domino gave her a look that clearly said: _you can answer, just don’t be stupid._

“Yes,” Meche said hesitantly, trying to read him for any sort of hint. Just how was she supposed to keep his made-up story straight when she’d never heard it?

“It was spur-of-the-moment, but we decided to tie the knot in Rubacava,” Domino interjected. “Just call the Lambada our honeymoon spot.”

“How romantic!” Maria swooned. “How did you two meet?”

Meche fought the urge to down her drink as Domino effortlessly began to spin a story. “Oh, love at first sight, at least for me,” he said. “I saw her at a charity function and _had_ to meet the selfless woman dedicating her afterlife to helping poor orphaned souls.”

“Let me guess,” Captain Montego raised his glass in Meche’s direction, “You didn’t notice him at first, did you?”

“Not until he made the biggest donation of the night,” said Meche, figuring it was easier to play along than not.

“I couldn’t believe it when I saw this little lady sitting at a bar in Rubacava. A _bar_ of all places. We tied the knot then and there.” Domino took her hand in his and planted a gentle kiss on her knuckle. Under different conditions, it might have been flattering.

The captain raised his champagne. “A toast to your honeymoon,” he said, clinking everyone’s glass in turn. “May you both find passion on the high seas.”

 _That_ warranted a hard sip of champagne, Meche decided, and drank.

“Rubacava has some wonderful clubs, right dear? A perfect place for a surprise ceremony,” Maria chimed, hugging her husband’s arm. “We played some cards at one of the loveliest little casinos right on the water. Oh, what was it called? Elegant place. The one with the brilliant pianist?”

Meche perked up. “The Calavera Café?”

“That was it! Charming venue, isn’t it?”

Domino cleared his throat loudly, tired of waiting in the wings. “You know, I heard that Calavera’s place completely shut down the _very night_ we left. Something about rigged tables.” He shook his head with feign disappointment. “That Calavera got greedy, let me tell you. He’s gonna be put away for a long time.”

“I met Mr. Calavera once,” Meche jumped in. “He didn’t seem like the type at all to—”

“Heard it from a friend in Rubacava, myself.” Domino gripped her so hard that she almost cried out.

“How _awful!”_ Maria said, immediately on board.

“Damn shame,” grumbled the captain. “Taking advantage of souls like that? Makes you wonder how many people he’s ripped off. Good riddance, I say.”

Meche had no way of knowing if Domino was telling the truth or not, but then again, Manny Calavera had proven that he was willing to do whatever it took to get ahead. It didn’t match the picture she had of the man she’d only met once, but if anything about the afterlife was true, it was that people could change faster than the shifting tides.

“Are you quite all right, dear?” Maria interjected, reading into Meche’s introspection.

Before she could utter a response, Domino quickly cut in with his lady-killing grin. “My wife’s still feeling under the weather, aren’t you, babes?”

“Poor thing,” Maria cooed. “You’ll be feeling well again soon enough. When you do, you _must_ join the girls and I for cocktail hour. We meet in the lounge at three most days.”

Meche ignored the pressure of his hand on her side and said, “Thank you, Maria. I’d _love_ to join you all as soon as I’m able.”

That earned her another sharp pinch from Domino, but Meche held tight to her victory. She’d already made a connection: someone who might start wondering where she was during cocktail hour; someone who might look out for her.

“We’d better let you go, captain,” Domino insisted, starting to tug at Meche’s wrist. “You know how women get when they’re gabby.”

The two men chortled at the painfully obvious jab, and Domino yanked Meche away before she had the chance to say her “good evening.”

“I’m sorry,” she hissed sardonically when they were out of earshot of the others, “Did I say something I wasn’t supposed to?”

Domino didn’t dignify her with a response, and instead steered her right towards a small table laden with a pristine white cloth and a flickering candle. At first glance, probably romantic. He even pulled out a chair for her to sit.

“You keep talking like that and I’ll consider taking away your eating privileges,” Domino grumbled, grabbing a breadstick from the basket and breaking it in half.

“I was just blending in,” Meche told him, picking up a breadstick of her own and taking a dainty bite. “I hardly said anything obtrusive.”

A waiter appeared at the table and promptly asked for their dinner order. Domino locked eyes with Meche, and with a slight sneer, said, “I’ll have the steak and potatoes. Nothing for the lady. Her stomach ain’t settled yet.”

Meche watched forlornly as the waiter slipped out of her sights, but betrayed no hint of disappointment. “I wasn’t hungry anyway,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster.

“I’ll give you a few bites of mine,” Domino promised, winking. “I’ll feed you. We’ll be voted ‘Most Adorable Couple on the Ship’.”

It was obvious he was _loving_ this, but whether it was having this control over her, or living in the fantasy, Meche couldn’t guess.

* * *

In her life, Meche hardly had the time to dedicate to pursuing romance. It wasn’t that she didn’t find certain men beguiling, but she realized that her efforts were best spent helping those who lacked more than a lover. She may have been less experienced than most women her age, but Meche felt she understood the male person well enough.

For instance, when she was a child growing up, she remembered her mother serving up lunch one warm afternoon: toast for Meche, and for her father, an entire _bandeja paisa_ piled with fried eggs and plenty of beef. When little Meche had asked why she couldn’t have more on her plate, her mother had replied knowingly, “Men have bigger appetites than women, _chiquita.”_

Meche’s dinner this evening consisted of nibbling on bread and watching Domino’s meat grind around in his open mouth. She stuck with water while Domino downed glass after glass of champagne, lips loosening the more he drank. She hoped that his hunger would work in her favor and he would spill a bit more information about what went down in Rubacava. Unfortunately, for a man who wouldn’t shut up through all three courses, he didn’t say much of substance.

Men’s appetites couldn’t have just applied to food, Meche thought. The alcohol may not have been coaxing secrets out of him, but Domino’s gaze darkened considerably the longer he observed her from across the table. When his plate was clean, Domino stood up and offered Meche a hand. “Dance with me, Mercedes,” he said.

She understood men’s appetites, and worse yet, she knew they needed _feeding._

A sultry piano ballad accompanied them onto the glossy ballroom floor. One of his hands went to her waist—dipping a little lower than she would have liked—and the other cupped her palm in an inescapable grasp. The two moved gracefully across the floor, Meche all-too aware of how much attention they’d drawn from the other party-goers. She caught the tail-end of hushed conversations, and things like “What a beautiful couple!” and “He can hardly keep his hands off her!” kept floating by like a foul breeze.

Despite the whispers, Domino kept his stare locked on her. Though he stood at least a head taller, Meche challenged his look with one of equal boldness, even if she was a bit surprised that the broad man could actually tango. He moved with ease and power, and never once had to look where he was going.

As they glided across the ballroom, Meche found herself wondering what Manny would think if he could see her now. Disappointment wouldn’t quite cover it. She certainly didn’t recognize herself tonight, and that wasn’t just because of the dress. It seemed like every time Domino regarded her, all she could picture was Manny Calavera wearing that same disheartened look he had the day she left his office.

The song ended, and applause trickled in from the corners of the room. Meche wished he would let her go now that she had obliged him with a dance, but Domino refused. He just grinned his skeletal grin and swept her out of the ballroom, nodding a goodbye to the captain and his wife as they passed. Meche tried to get Maria’s attention, but the woman seemed much too occupied with trying to get her own husband to dance.

Domino took Meche up to the deck, where she couldn’t suppress the gasp that escaped her. The sea—she hadn’t seen it yet, not really. She’d caught glimpses out of her small cabin window, but there was something about being there above the open waters that made her head feel dizzy. The deck was only occupied by a few other couples, lit by strings of lights that glittered and sent shadows dancing across their skulls. Meche gripped the railing so she could peer down into the black waters.

“You’re not planning on tossing me overboard, are you?” she asked.

Domino let out a bark-like laugh. “No use getting rid of you. Besides…” Again, his hands were wandering. “…I think I’m liking your company.”

She knew that to be allowed out again, she had to remain in Domino’s good graces. She had her hard limits, but Meche knew that the more she played along, the more she could squeeze out of him. Maybe she could even work his tipsiness in her favor, even though he was probably more used to drinking than she was.

_Feed him what he wants to hear._

“You can be tolerable when you’re not tormenting me,” she said.

“I’ll take it.” He stuck the end of a cigar into his mouth and lit it. Then, he extracted a box of cigarettes from his breast pocket and offered her one.

Why not? She took one of the cigs, and there was a brief smell of burning as he struck a match. She inhaled the smoke, suppressing a cough, and watched the wind whisk it out to sea.

“I haven’t heard much about the Edge of the World,” she began cautiously. “What’s this new branch you’re always going on about?”

“Exactly what it sounds like, kid. The DOD’s expanding. My boss is stationed over in El Marrow, I’ll be stationed at the Edge until Calavera shows up.”

“And I’ll be what? Your secretary?”

“How about we call you my personal _assistant?”_

She ignored his emphasis. “I thought you said Mr. Calavera was taken away for running crooked tables.”

Smoke curled out of Domino’s nostrils. “Aw. Is someone hoping her White Knight’s gonna come and save her from the Big Bad?”

“That’s not what I said.”

Domino smiled, but he could have been baring his teeth. “You can rest easy, Mercedes. That drip’s not gonna stop looking till he gets a piece of you, and a piece of the new company.” He flicked the rest of his cigar over the balcony and grabbed her greedily around the waist, mouth scraping her jaw. “Until he gets here, you work for _me,_ kiddo. So why don’t we make the best of a bad situation, and—”

_SMACK._

Meche hardly realized that she’d slapped him until she heard the gasps of the onlookers. She froze with her hand still trembling in the air, eye sockets wide, knowing that whatever was coming next couldn’t be good. It was one thing to defend herself behind closed doors, but in _public?_ Where Domino had a reputation on the ship?

She’d broken character. She was worse than dead.

Domino didn’t move for a solid minute, head still tilted slightly as though he was considering the waves lapping at the side of the boat. Meche waited on the breath she no longer had to breathe.

When he finally looked up, concern was contorting his features. “I’m so sorry, babe,” he said, loud enough for the rest of the deck to hear. “You haven’t been feeling well all night, and I pushed you, didn’t I?”

Meche struggled to read the motive underneath his worried expression. He must have been quite the salesmen back in the day: she could hardly tell whether there was any sort of genuineness in his delivery or not.

“Come on. Let’s get you in bed,” he said, gently leading her past the whispering crowd, down the stairs, back through the tight hallway. Meche kept her mouth shut, mind reeling with what kinds of things he had planned for her disobedience. He didn’t spare her a glance—quieter than she’d ever experienced him—and unlocked the door to her bedroom, holding it open like a butler.

Meche couldn’t bear the tense silence a second longer and faced Domino head-on. “I don’t care what you do to me, Domino Hurley,” she whispered at last. “You can keep me locked up for the rest of the voyage, you can starve me if you want.” She narrowed her eyes, feet planted on the thick carpet. “But I’ve been through the woods, Domino. I can take whatever it is you’ve got to throw at me.”

He considered her, arms crossed, head still cocked to one side. Had she knocked his head loose? Meche waited, patience wearing thin, until Domino spoke in voice almost soft. “Get some sleep,” was all he said, before closing the door behind her.

Meche stared at the spot where Domino was standing just moments before. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting Domino to do, but it wasn’t _nothing._ He had to be angrier than he was letting on.

Maybe, she thought, he’d finally realized that no matter what he did to her, Meche wasn’t going to break. Whether he liked to admit it or not, Domino _needed_ her for whatever the DOD was planning. If her horrible year in the Petrified Forest had taught her anything, it was resilience. She’d already experienced starvation, imprisonment, even the fear of being chased by bone-gnawing beavers. What could Domino do to her that she hadn’t already bested?

Meche didn’t sleep, too wired to lie still, and instead watched the reflections of the ocean tango across her bedroom ceiling.

* * *

She figured she had a few more weeks to spend alone in the cabin, so Meche chose another book from off the shelf and hoped it would be entertaining enough to last a while. Well, it wasn’t so much of a book as a yacht catalogue, but it was better than nothing. While she was flipping through a section entitled _Why Share Your Vacation?_ , someone knocked on her door.

“Your breakfast, miss.”

Meche started. Breakfast? She’d half-expected Domino to cut her off from room service entirely. After all, he was the same man who made her watch him eat three whole courses of food without letting her so much as sniff his plate. “Come in, Baxter,” she called uncertainly.

The man entered the room, although it wasn’t Baxter. Another butler—younger, taller—set the usual silver breakfast tray on her small table. “Actually, it’s ‘Crawford’, miss.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Meche mended, watching the new server curiously.

“No worries, miss,” the man said. “Mr. Hurley asked for _me_ to make sure you had everything you needed from now on.”

Meche stared down at the steam rising from the oatmeal and her cup of coffee. She was suddenly not hungry. “May I ask where Mr. Baxter is this morning? He’s not sick, is he?”

“Apologies, miss, but no one’s seen the poor fellow since last night. There’s no trace of him on the ship at all.” The man shook his head and turned to leave. “Poor old timer. We’re hoping he didn’t fall overboard or something, though I can’t say it hasn’t happened before.”

Meche remained motionless where she was and let the news wash over her like a freezing rain. She waited until the man was gone before breaking; collapsing onto her bed, hand clamped over her mouth to stem the shocked sobs pouring forth. This was no mysterious disappearance or some crazed leap into the cold sea.

Domino couldn’t break her, so he broke whoever had been close, and the realization scared her more than if he’d thrown her overboard himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know that skeletons can't *technically* kiss or anything, but if "Grim Fandango" has taught me anything it's "don't ask, don't tell." so let's just go with it.


	4. The Edge

There were few things and fewer people Meche could say she outright hated. Hate was a strong word, and words had power, as her mother used to remind her daily. _“Sé amable,_ _chiquita._ Speak light,” she’d say. But as the weeks dragged by on the high seas and the guilt of Baxter’s disappearance gnawed at her marrow, Meche could say without an ounce of remorse that she _hated_ Domino Hurley.

Strangely enough, he did let Meche out of her room after the gala incident, knowing full-well that she wouldn’t step out of line again now that there were lives on it. He escorted her to cocktails with the ladies, took her out dancing, paid for spa treatments, and Meche never complained again. She wore what he told her to wear, she went where he told her to go, and she kept her hands to herself no matter how much she wanted to give Domino’s jaw a nice crack to match the last one.

In a way, she almost wished he’d just kept her locked in her room. At least then she didn’t have to pretend she felt any kind of affection for him when they were out and about.

One breezy afternoon, Domino waltzed into Meche’s bedroom and announced that she had been invited for three o’clock cocktails with the other wives. “It’d be rude to stand them up,” he said jovially, tossing a purple, form-fitting dress onto the bed. Meche did not leave her spot from the window as she watched him pick out her clothes as though he was dressing up a doll.

“Whatever you say,” she replied.

Domino sneered smugly. “Reign in the enthusiasm, wouldja?” he teased. “We’ll be nearing the Edge soon, so you won’t be cooped up in here much longer. You’re welcome.”

Meche perked up. “This luxury cruise ship is really going to drop you off at the Edge of the World for your little crime operation, is it?” she baited.

“Crime operation?” He laughed, but didn’t elaborate. Unfortunate, since she’d been trying to get the man to spill more information about this shady DOD business for weeks. “You know the only _crime operation_ within smelling distance is that little resistance everyone in El Marrow is pissing their pants over. Batshit terrorist group is what they are. Your cocktail friends ever chat about that?"

As a matter of fact, that had been the main topic of last week’s conversation. According to Paula, her husband had heard whispers of a group in El Marrow stockpiling weapons and fighting against…well, something. No one was sure. Maybe it was just a legend—stories to give people something to talk about.

“But you don’t have to worry about a thing, darling,” said Domino sympathetically, misreading her expression. “The DOD is more than equipped to handle a few thugs. If there’s even a whiff of resistance, I can guarantee you the ones involved would be sprouted like _that.”_ He snapped his fingers for emphasis.

Equipped? Meche couldn’t imagine the members of the DOD hoarding weapons—she especially couldn’t imagine Mr. Calavera waving a pistol around like some sort of felon.

“Now get dressed,” Domino interjected, “Mrs. Montego is waiting on your company.”

Meche dressed quickly—Domino had turned around out of courtesy, but who knew how much of _that_ he had to spare. When she had finished, he hooked her arm around his elbow and dragged her out to the deck. The sun was hot, but the breeze was cool on her exposed bone. Admittedly, it was nice to get out and experience the sunshine while she could. She had no idea how Domino was planning on getting them to the Edge, but knowing his slimy nature, it probably wasn’t going to be fun.

Meche caught sight of Maria Montego sitting in the shade with two others and waved politely. Drinks had already been delivered. “Are you going to hover this time?” Meche asked Domino in an undertone. “Cocktail hour means ladies only.”

“I’ll be around,” he assured her. “Gotta make sure my wife’s not asking anything she shouldn’t.”

“I won’t.”

“Sure, and I bet your butler can swim, too. What’s his name? Crawford?”

Meche swallowed her fury. “Fine,” she spat, as Domino released her arm and she hurried over to sit by the three other ladies sporting pastel-colored dresses. They looked like a cluster of Easter eggs.

Maria handed Meche a martini with a welcoming smile. “Hello, dear. Won’t your husband stay and say hello?” she asked.

“No,” Meche said icily.

“He really is handsome, isn’t he?” chimed Paula, moving the wide brim of her hat aside to regard Domino more closely as he leaned on the deck balcony and lit a cigar. “I think it’s really sweet that he waits for you every week, Mercedes.”

Meche couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her, ignoring the strange looks she received from the others. “Sweet indeed,” she sneered. “So, what’s new?”

As usual, Meche let her fellow hens cluck, only half-listening as Domino crept in and out of the corner of her vision. He always did this as sort of a precaution, and the hovering always did its job: Meche had no desire to open her mouth when he was around. She watched him chew his cigar, nodding through a cloud of smoke, and she wrenched her gaze away.

“You know, my husband says we may be able to catch a glimpse of the Pearl today,” Maria said, catching Meche’s attention. “Wouldn’t that be something?”

The other two _oohed._

“Have you heard the stories?” asked Sofie in a hushed voice, smoothing out the creases in her elegant yellow sundress.

“I’ve heard that people have been driven absolutely _mad_ at the sight of it,” said Paula knowingly. “Entire ships have gone missing in this very area. It must be worth a fortune if people are throwing themselves overboard to see it up close.” She took a drag from her long cigarette. “That, or the Pearl has siren-like powers and drags its victims into the depths with the promise of wealth and beauty.”

Maria chortled, patting Meche on the knee. “She likes to exaggerate. My husband assures me the legends are just that. Still, it is a beautiful sight to see at least once.”

Meche had been on the ship long enough to know that the Pearl was more than a famous landmark or a tourist trap, even though the tourists were more than eager to see the place where souls have disappeared without a trace—or so the stories said. What Meche was most intrigued about was the boat’s scheduled—most likely _un_ scheduled—stop at the Edge of the World. There was no way a ship of this size would risk the voyage, but she couldn’t ask for details, since Domino was huffing and puffing only a few feet away.

“I can’t wait to see it,” Meche said, raising her glass scathingly in Domino’s direction.

They were just starting to nibble on the fancy fruit plate when Meche noticed the crowds forming on the deck. There was hardly time to express a “good afternoon” to her companions before Domino appeared to yank her out of her seat. He made a beeline towards the stern of the ship, his stride twice as long as hers.

“Slow down,” she demanded, struggling not to lose a shoe.

Domino ignored her, and continued to cut a path through the gathering onlookers. He pushed bodies aside like they were made of cardboard until he and Meche had their hands on the cold railing. From here, she could just make out something glimmering under the sea’s surface.

“Take a gander,” he said.

Meche leaned over as far as she dared, squinting as something round and glowing caught the water’s edge. There was no mistaking the pearly sheen glinting from a few miles below: The Pearl. It was beautiful, Meche thought, but certainly not worth jumping overboard for.

There was a sudden shift of the boat, and Meche felt her stomach area lurch as the ship began to turn sharply against the current. She clung to the rail to keep her balance.

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” came the captain’s voice over the crackling loudspeakers, “Forgive the sudden swing. We are nearing the Edge of the World, and no, the Lambada will _not_ be seeing it on this passage. It’s simply too dangerous, even for you daredevils and salty sea dogs.”

While the rest of the boat groaned in disappointment, Meche breathed a small sigh of relief. Perhaps Domino’s plan to haul her out there wouldn’t be happening after all.

“However, if you direct your attention over the back of the Lambada, you’ll catch sight of the famous Pearl under the water. She’s a beaut, but don’t look too close, now; that’s how we lost the last captain.”

There were scattered chuckles amongst the spectators, and as their attentions were drawn, Domino swept Meche onto his arm and forced her back across the deck. “There’s our cue, babes,” he said.

“There’s no need to yank me back and forth like a rag doll,” she replied. “And what do you mean by ‘cue’?”

“Everyone’s distracted by the big, shiny thing in the water,” he said, taking her to the starboard side of the boat.

“You heard the captain, we’re not stopping,” she hissed. “What, are you planning on stealing a lifeboat?”

“Nope.” Domino unlatched the metal grate and stepped onto the lip of the boat, Meche in tow. They were standing right above the cobalt blue waves that roared and lapped up towards Meche’s ankles for a taste. “This is our stop.”

“You’re insane.”

And then, Domino jumped, pulling her along before she gained the sense to grab onto something. It wouldn’t have mattered—he was heavy enough to rip her bony arm right out of its socket. The two plummeted through the air, the S.S. Lambada flashing like a mirage before Meche was plunged into icy darkness.

* * *

“Oh, don’t be a drama queen. Get your ass up.”

Meche opened her eyes slowly and took in her surroundings, coughing up a splash of saltwater. She was cold and wet, sitting in a puddle of whatever dampness she’d brought inside. She flinched as Domino tossed her a towel.

“You passed out the second we hit water,” he said with a snicker. “Forget you were already dead, did you?”

Meche dried off, still disoriented and a little embarrassed. She’d been so stunned by the prospect of falling into the ocean, she’d failed to neglect that she didn’t need air anymore. Her head was throbbing. Had she hit it? “How long was I…?”

“You were in and out the whole sub ride over,” Domino replied.

So _that_ was how he’d gotten them off the cruise: he’d abandoned ship and had a vessel waiting to take them the rest of the way. Meche coughed out the stale air and salt still clinging to her mouth.

“You couldn’t have _told_ me what you were planning?” she asked.

“You know I couldn’t trust you with that piece of info.” He gave her a prod with his foot. “Now get up. It’s time you saw the place.” As he began to walk out of the room, he called back, “And try not to drip on the carpet.”

Meche got unsteadily to her feet, finally taking in the room. It looked like an office overseeing the sky, bathed in balmy, natural light. Meche made her way behind the single desk to look out at the horizon, and immediately stumbled back. The office was sitting _directly_ on the fringe of what looked like a waterfall plummeting over…

…the Edge of the World.

Meche bolted as far away from the window as possible, dizzy, and followed Domino out the door. It was better than the alternative.

They ended up in a close-quartered sitting room with another desk, a chaise lounge, and an empty bookcase. Meche hugged her shoulders as Domino rubbed the frames of his sunglasses on his blazer and slid them over his eyes. The _cabrón_ was wearing sunglasses inside.

“This is your office, Miss Colomar,” said Domino, flourishing his hand, revealing her grand prize. “You’ll deal with paperwork, mostly. And scheduling appointments. And sitting there looking pretty.”

“Appointments,” she mused. “Appointments with who, exactly? As far as I know, we’re sitting on a rock.”

“Oh, you’ll have plenty to do. An upstanding lightbulb factory can’t run itself, you know.”

Meche scoffed. There was so much she didn’t know, and quite frankly, she didn’t care to. She’d be out of this place soon enough.

Domino gave Meche the grand tour of the old, decrepit factory; through damp hallways, down the only working elevator, and even underwater where the workers harvested the strange, glowing coral for the lightbulbs. Even though Meche knew she could withstand the depths, it still caught her by surprise to find she could walk on the ocean floor without breaking a sweat. She couldn’t wait to get back inside after _that_ scary excursion.

“Any questions?” Domino asked as the elevator lifted them out of the waters and back into the twisted, metal building.

“One, actually,” she said, leaning in close so he could feel the intensity of her glare. “What makes you think I’ll be doing _anything_ you say?”

Domino adjusted his glasses. “Now, Mercedes…”

“There’s no one close to me here, Domino,” she said, almost giddily. “What are you going to do? Put me to work like the rest of the slaves down there? I’m not an idiot—I know something crooked is going on here. You can’t be paying those souls for their work. And _lightbulbs?”_ she laughed outright. “How stupid do you think I am?”

“Let me show you something.”

“No!” She brushed past him out of the elevator, looking for an exit. “There’s got to be a way off this trash heap, and when I find it—”

She knew Domino was strong, and now he was both strong _and_ annoyed. A dangerous mixture. He blocked the hallway with his massive body and wrenched open a door. “Kids!” he called inside. “Meet your new supervisor.”

The room was dim save for a single lightbulb glowing from the ceiling, which lit up a very strange sight: a giant birdcage sitting in the very center of the space. Two small skeletons were sitting on wooden perches like birds, and growing out of their backs were sets of wings.

_Angelitos._

Meche approached the cage and set her hand on the bars, speechless. Nothing could articulate the wrath she felt radiating deep in her soul.

“You like kids, right?” Domino asked her.

Meche clenched a fist. “Why, may I ask, have you locked these children in a cage?”

He was definitely enjoying this, the bastard. “Disciplinary reasons. I’m sure you’ve come across situations like this in your line of work, eh?”

She didn’t feel like explaining that there was never, _ever_ a good reason to put a child in a cage, and by the looks of it, they’d been cooped up in there for a long time.

“This is Miss Colomar, kids. She’s your new manager,” said Domino without skipping a beat. “Isn’t that exciting?”

“Not if she’s a mean stupid-head like you,” snarked one.

Without warning, Domino banged on the cage, and the sharp _clang_ reverberated about the room. The children slapped their hands over their heads, crying out.

“Stop that!” Meche grabbed his fist to keep him from striking the metal again.

“You want me to stop?” he asked quietly, baring his teeth in a smirk. He knew. He knew that _she_ knew. It was the Baxter situation all over again, and just like before, it was the only thing keeping Meche from raising hell.

_Be good or the kiddies get it._

“Well?” Domino pressed. “Should I stop?”

Meche could have spit on him. “Yes,” she growled.

He released her. “Hear that, you little runts? You got yourselves a new manager. You like that, right?”

“Yes, Mister Hurley,” said the children in unison, shooting him dirty looks.

“Yay,” he said. “You all play nice. I’ll be in my office.” Then, he left down the corridor, whistling as he went.

When she was certain Domino was out of earshot, Meche turned back to the cage and grumbled, “He _is_ a mean stupid-head, isn’t he?”

The children stared at her for a minute before bursting into fits of giggles.

“Really mean,” agreed the girl in the blue beanie.

“And ugly,” chimed the boy seated on the bottom perch.

Meche smiled, knowing that whether she liked it or not, it was time to settle back into yet another groove. She might have compared the new situation to having a typical desk job, if the desk job had been forced on her under deadly threat. How did the saying go? “Out of the frying pan, into the fire.” Maybe she didn’t have to pretend she was married to Domino Hurley anymore, but she had never felt more under his thumb. He had played her like a fine-tuned piano. To him, her compassion equivalated weakness, and rightly assumed considering his track record.

But even if he’d won this round, that wouldn’t stop her from looking after these kids, and making damn sure Domino never hurt them. If that was what made her weak, well, Meche was past the point of caring.


	5. What the Boss Don't Know (the Boss Won't Mind)

“Oh, _no.”_   Meche craned her neck towards the source of the _ripping_ noise, and groaned again as she noticed the split seam in her dress. She knew this day had been coming—she only had two dresses to wear in rotation—but the thought alone didn’t offer much comfort. Meche promptly left her chair at the secretary’s desk to grab her needle and thread, holding the rip at her waist securely shut as she slipped down the hallway. She didn’t want to give Domino a reason to poke more fun at her.

Gone was the Domino who used to dress her in the finest trappings money could buy. Though Meche never missed the attention, it was obvious that the man had grown tired of her. She figured that his interest in Meche’s company had fizzled as soon as they were out of the public eye and the workload had set in. Either that, or he was getting tired of risking a slap in the face whenever he got handsy.

Thanks to the isolated isle, there was a distinct lack of pretty much everything including food, warm beds, and clothing. This went for the rest of the workers down in the mines, the children, and Domino, too. No one was spared here on the Edge, not even the boss.

Meche grabbed her sewing kit from the cabinet in her room and sank onto the thin mattress to patch up her skirt. Her weeks in the factory were some of the most tedious she’d ever experienced, even trumping the year she spent in Argentina building a hospital in the pouring rain. Piles of lightbulb orders were delivered daily on the submarine, and Domino received a strangely high number of correspondence from El Marrow. Meche knew better than to open his mail—she didn’t want the children to suffer for her defiance—but through some careful snooping, Meche had no doubt that something else must have been churning underneath the surface. It had something to do with all the unpaid souls slaving down in the depths of Domino’s so-called Lightbulb Factory.

Hector LeMans was a name that kept surfacing within the piles of mail. “Crime Lord” was what Meche unironically called him, though she’d never met the boss, and wasn’t certain what kind of “crimes” were being committed. Another title that was sprinkled amongst the paperwork was a familiar one: Manuel Calavera. That man had a knack for throwing her for loop after loop without even being present.

What could she do? The only way off the island was by hitching a ride on the submarine, and Meche had no intention of going near the colossal octopus who captained it, not that it would let her. The sub was a one-way trip—even Domino had never hitched a ride off the rock as far as she knew. The only thing Meche felt useful doing was keeping an eye on Bibi and Pugsy.

The children were little firecrackers, so she called them. The poor things longed to stretch their wings, but of course, that was the reason they’d been caged in the first place. They were the only things Domino couldn’t control on his cruel rock. To keep their spirits up, Meche often read to them from the old, tattered books she’d found in a storage room. It reminded her of the times in life she’d spent in the hospital reading to the sick children, and story time quickly became her favorite part of the day. The children fervently awaited five o’clock when Meche brought in puzzles and books, and she would spend the entirety of her evening with the _angelitos_. She wished with all her soul that she could break open that cage door and let them out, but perhaps stories of warriors and musicians would have to satisfy their thirst for adventure. For now.

Meche threaded her bent needle and snapped the thread with her teeth. She sewed up her skirt as seamlessly as she was able, frowning as she noticed another rip forming near her ribcage. Ugh. What did a girl have to do to keep things together around here?

Meche bit off yet another length of thread and began the process all over again.

* * *

“What will it be tonight, _angelitos?”_ Meche flipped through her stack of picture books, settling herself on the rickety chair by the cage door. “How about _The Bull Fighter?_ This one even has all its pages.”

Bibi shrugged her shoulders. Pugsy grumbled something.

“Not that one, eh?” They were usually so keen to argue about what they wanted to read. Meche dug out another volume. “I’m not sure what the title of this one is, but it’s got a little puppy in it. You like puppies, don’t you Bibi?”

Bibi made a non-committal sound.

“What do you think, Pugsy?”

The boy hadn’t looked up from where he sat with his head resting in his arms.

This was getting nowhere. Meche let out a sigh and set the books down on the floor by her feet. “All right, what’s wrong with you two?” she asked, not unkindly. “Do you not like story time anymore?”

“We do!” piped Bibi, eyes wide.

“Really?” Meche asked, feigning surprise. “What about you, Pugsy? Would you rather I stopped reading? Should we sit in silence instead?”

Bugsy shook his head hard. “No!”

Meche chuckled softly. “Then tell me,” she asked, folding her hands on her lap, “what would you like to do instead?”

The kids looked at each other. They must have had the biggest, brightest eyes in their lifetimes, Meche thought.

“I want to fly,” Pugsy mumbled.

“I want to go to the beach,” Bibi added.

“I want to fly circles around Mister Hurley’s big, dumb head,” Pugsy continued.

Meche felt her chest tighten. “I know, babies,” she clucked. “I’d break open this cage for you if I could.”

The two had so much pent-up energy that couldn’t possibly be expelled through simple storytelling and word games. They needed to get out and stretch their wings, and the boss knew it. He didn’t want to risk them flying off, but how far could they get with wings as small as theirs?

“Let me talk to Domino,” Meche said at last.

This was met with a chorus of protests. “No way!” said Pugsy.

“He’s mean to you,” Bibi added.

Meche waved her hand gently to silence the allegations. “It can’t hurt to ask, can it?”

Experience told her that yes, it certainly _could_ hurt to ask the boss something if he was in a bad mood. The last time she’d caught Domino at an unfortunate moment, he’d chucked a coffee mug across the room, only narrowly missing her head. He usually kept up the façade of being suave and world-savvy, but it appeared that the untouchable Domino Hurley could get stir-crazy just like the rest of them.

Still, if she played her cards right, maybe she could swing in his favor.

Since begrudgingly taking the job as his assistant, Meche knew his schedule inside and out—it was fairly easy, since there were no people to schedule appointments with or calls to make. Meche was nothing more than a glorified filer, but she did know one thing: he tended to be in a better mood when he was fed. Meche brought Domino dinner that evening promptly at 6 PM: a bowl of _pozole._ She’d even picked the more succulent pieces of pork out of her own soup to plop into his—anything to keep him content.

As per the schedule, Meche knocked on his office door at 6:30 to take his plates away.

“What?” he barked from the other side.

That didn’t sound good. She cautiously let herself in. “Are you finished?”

Domino sat over his deck, pouring over a lengthy letter. He tossed the envelope to the side with an annoyed growl and leaned back in his chair so far that Meche half-expected him to topple over.

“Yeah,” he said, and Meche hurried over to clean up his empty bowl.

She hesitated. “Is there anything else you need?”

Domino’s eye sockets fixed themselves on her, suspicion carved into his features. Perhaps she had sounded too eager. After a few seconds, he grumbled in consent, waving vaguely to the cupboard in the corner. “Grab me a cigar, wouldja?”

Meche went to the cabinet and brought him the intricately carved cigar box—an expensive one, by the looks of it. He shoved one of the Cubans between his teeth, and Meche, the perfect assistant, anticipated him by striking a match. He glanced at her before leaning into the flame, the orange light flickering against the harsh grooves in his skull. He blew the black smoke out of the side of his mouth, away from her face: a rare gesture of courtesy.

It was a good sign, especially for one gearing up to ask a favor.

“Bad news?” she asked, nodding to the letter.

“What’s it to you?”

“I was only asking. There’s no need to get defensive.”

“Yeah, well, the last time we conversed, you stomped the hell out of my foot.”

Meche bit back a grim smile at the memory: Domino had been drinking alone on the balcony the other night—he wasn’t just drunk, he was  _sloshed_ —and he’d pulled Meche outside to “look at the moon”.

“You know what I miss, Mercedes?” he’d slurred, kicking aside one of the many bottles littering the terrace. “The _action.”_

She remembered him polishing off the last few drops of whiskey before chucking the bottle out over the waterfall that marked the threshold where water met sky. After blubbering on about how he missed dry land and the casinos and the women, he attempted to plant a kiss on her in this moment of fragility.

The rest, as they say, was history.

Domino had never struck Meche as the type to get sentimental—even at that level of intoxication--but if the Edge had taught her anything, it was that this kind of isolation could bring the hardest of hearts to its breaking point.

Domino huffed out another cloud of smoke, falling briefly silent, no doubt recalling his drunken outburst. “It’s just business,” he said. “I’m being hauled out to the middle of the ocean for a meeting with the big man tomorrow.” He tapped the stem of the cigar over his silver-encrusted ashtray. The embers spilled over the side of the pricy dish. “It’s not like radios exist, fer crying out loud.”

Meche swallowed the feeling of elation rising inside. “So you’ll be…away?”

“Don’t look so happy about it,” he grunted. “I’m taking the sub, so don’t think you can try anything funny while I’m gone.”

Gone. Domino would be gone for the whole day, leaving Meche and the children to their own devices. Perhaps there was no need to wrangle a cage key after all. Meche was so deep in this exhilarating thought that she almost didn’t catch the intensity of Domino’s stare.

“Your skirt’s torn,” he snickered.

Meche looked down at herself, scoffed, and stepped behind the desk to shield his view of her thigh. All her work trying to patch up that damned rip had gone flying out the window. “Excuse me, but I don’t seem to recall you employing a seamstress on this old rock. If you don’t like the way I dress, you can take it up with our Complaint Department.”

Domino chewed smugly on his cigar. “Oh, don’t you worry about that. I’m a fan of the view.”

At least his mood seemed to have lifted, even if it was at her expense. Meche repressed her irritation, reminding herself that he would be gone soon enough. Before she could make her escape, Domino called over, “You get lonely out here, Mercedes?”

She stopped, one hand resting on the cool door handle. “I’m not sharing a bunk with you.”

He laughed, although it sounded hollow. “You’re too much of a good girl, is that it?”

Meche did not turn around. She didn’t want to give him an inkling of satisfaction knowing that maybe he was right.

“Need anything done while you’re away?” she said instead.

She could catch the grinding sounds of a cigar being crushed into its tray. “Yeah. Don’t burn the place down.”

“I won’t,” she said. A perfectly honest thing to say.

That night, the Sea of Lament reflecting through her tiny bedroom window turned her surroundings a shade of pale blue. She sank onto her creaky bed, staring at the moonlight trickling in and landing in a slant across her knees.

Maybe she would be stuck appeasing Domino Hurley until Judgement Day, letting him have his way because she was too good not to. Maybe she would never see Manny again. Not that she should care one way or the other, but for some reason—and she would never breathe a word of it to anyone—the thought alone made her feel so desolate her bones ached.

* * *

The day when Domino left the isle felt akin to waking up on Christmas morning. Meche practically leaped out of bed to cook him breakfast and didn’t even complain when he barked at her for a coffee refill. She usually detested this facade of domesticity—their “arrangement”, as he liked to call it—but she displayed nothing but smiles as she refilled his mug with whatever sludge was clinging to the bottom of the coffee pot. Meche watched him board the submarine from the window perched on the top floor, and she waved a cheery goodbye even though he most likely couldn’t see. The sub sped out of sight, and Meche breathed out the sigh of relief she’d been holding all morning.

She didn’t waste any time bursting into Domino’s office and rifling through the desk, emptying each drawers’ content onto the floor in her thorough search for cage keys. Not surprisingly, there wasn’t much to see besides a few empty file folders, cigar butts, and some glowing pieces of coral from the farms on the ocean floor. It was disappointing, considering Meche would have loved to dig up some dirt on the boss. But as she stretched her hand into the furthest corners of the cabinet, it brushed against something cold and small. Upon extraction, she realized it was a bullet, with a miniscule flower engraved on the casing.  She wasn’t sure what this was doing in the back of the drawer, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out. Without thinking, she shoved the bullet into the brim of her hat.

After a bit more poking and prodding, Meche went into the barren utility closet and stumbled upon a foot-long piece of metal with a slightly curved end. It was just the right size to do some damage. She marched down the hall towards the ill-lit office where Bibi and Pugsy dangled their legs through the bars of the cage.

“Is he gone yet?” Bibi asked as Meche breezed towards the rusted door and shoved the end of the crowbar through it. Bibi glanced uncertainly at her brother. “Um...Meche? What are you…?”

“Stand back,” Meche ordered, and mustering all her strength, threw herself against the bar. The children flinched, waiting for the door to bust open, but all the crowbar accomplished was making a small dent in the metal. Meche rolled up her sleeves and attacked it again, this time with more force. It took a full minute of pushing and coaxing, but the loud metallic _CLANG_ that finally sounded signaled her victory. Meche tossed the bar aside and stuck her smiling face through the hole. “Come on out, my darlings.”

The children’s big, dark eye sockets peered at her from the other side of the enclosure, and after stealing a fleeting look at one another, they shot out of the open doorway like tiny rockets. Meche’s laugh floated out of the room as the children vigorously flapped their wings and bounced off the walls, hooting and giggling. Meche reached up so her hands brushed against theirs as they flew by. Oh, she could have flown, herself!

When the kids had overexerted themselves, they collapsed onto the floor, panting.

“Is he _really_ gone?” Pugsy asked, chest rising and falling rapidly. “For the whole day?”

“That’s right,” Meche replied, tucking her skirt under her knees and crouching to his height. “So we can do whatever you want to do.”

Bibi placed her hands on her little face, deep in thought, as though she never dreamed she’d get to this point. “Could we get something to eat?”

“Something _good,”_ Pugsy chimed. “Something from Mister Hurley’s stash.”

Stash? Even Meche wasn’t aware of Domino hoarding a stash of sweets, and she was supposed to be his secretary. But sure enough, the children led her right to a tucked-away corner of Domino’s expansive office, removed a precariously placed plank from the wall, and extracted a box. Inside, Meche could see individually wrapped cookies and candies, piled up and spilling over the sides.

“When did you find this?” Meche asked, baffled, as the children tore the plastic off morsels of _dulce de leche,_ her favorite. It was strange to think that the last time she’d tasted one of those, she still had heart beating in her chest and skin on her bones.

“Oh, we knew about this for forever,” said Pugsy, mouth gooey. “Mister Hurley was really mad the last time we got into it.”

“I can imagine,” Meche replied. Even if she’d been given a hundred years, she probably wouldn’t have found Domino’s petty little secret tucked away in the wall. She wondered what other secrets these kids were privy to, what well-deserved mischief they could get up to together for this one day of freedom. Bibi started by shoving a handful of the candies under Meche’s metaphorical nose. “Have one, Meche!” she said.

At the girl’s insistence, Meche opened her mouth and allowed Bibi to pop one of the _dulce de leches_ inside. Meche could have melted at the reminiscent taste dancing around her teeth as she chewed indulgently. The flavors took her back to the days where she would keep a handful of these in her coat pocket to hand out to the children in the orphanage. If there were any left over, she would eat one herself, but _only_ if she was certain that everyone else had gotten one.

Domino could not have been more different. He was the most well-fed out of everyone living here on the isle, and he _still_ had to hoard all the sweet things away like a fat squirrel.

 _Serves him right,_ she thought, as the children continued to raid his pile of cookies. If Domino asked, Meche would take full responsibility for the destruction of his property, but the _angelitos_ deserved to have something good on their day off.

Who knew when there would be another day like today?

* * *

When the children had eaten their fill of treats (and Meche had cleaned up the scene of the crime), they made their way to the elevator. Meche, having never left the main building since arriving, followed the children closely as they glided easily up a few chosen sets of stairs. After quite a bit of wandering through tunnels in the damp, algae-coated rocks, the three ended up on the surface of what could have been a beach. The freezing ocean water lapped at the rocky shore, but the sun was blazing despite the bitter breeze.

She let the children play, watching as their winged silhouettes flew against the blue sky and their shadows chased each other along the ground. Meche kicked off her heels and sat down, knowing she would be shaking out her bones for days, but nothing could replace the luxurious feeling of hot sand between her toes. With her head back and the sun on her face, she could almost feel the sensation of long, dark locks of hair sweeping along her neck, and her cheeks pink and raw from the heat. The laughter of the _angelitos_ mixed with the dull roar of the ocean lulled Meche into a rare state of calm.

When the children had once again tired themselves out, they came to crash at Meche’s feet, and Pugsy fished around in his ribcage to extract a stolen cookie. He chomped down on it as they soaked up the sun’s rays.

“Did you swim?” Meche asked.

“It’s too cold,” replied Pugsy, his mouth full.

“We used to swim all the time back home,” added Bibi, piling clumps of sand around her feet. “The orphanage was right near the beach.”

“How nice,” Meche said, searching for something else encouraging to say. “What’s that you’re making, Bibi?”

Bibi had several small mounds of sand in a line, and she was decorating each one with bits of broken shells. “It’s the Day of the Dead parade,” she said. “See? These are the floats.”

It was at that moment that Meche abruptly remembered that they were, in fact, fast approaching _Dia de los Muertos_ once again, at least according to the calendar she had hanging by her secretary’s desk. Since dying, she’d never gotten the chance to make the trip back to the Land of the Living, thanks to the fiasco in the forest paired with Domino’s eye sockets watching her every move. She highly doubted he would let her and the children over the gap to see their loved ones when the day came, not that Bibi and Pugsy had parents to see.

Pugsy leaned over to see his sister’s masterpiece better, spilling crumbs over her work. “That doesn’t look like the parade,” he sneered.

“Well it’s not _done,”_ she spat back.

“Don’t tease your sister. I think it looks beautiful,” said Meche, plastering on that brave face she’d grown so accustomed to wearing. The little mounds were simple in design, and yet it sparked vivid memories of music, bright orange flowers pouring off of every sidewalk, and the warm scent of bread wafting through the streets of her village. _Dia de los Muertos_ had been the best time of the year in the Land of the Living...but she’d never experienced it from the other side.

Pugsy, oblivious to her pensiveness, stuck the rest of the cookie in his mouth to free up his hands, snatched up a piece of dried seaweed, and attempted to poke a small stick through one end.

“And what are you supposed to be doing?” asked Bibi.

Pugsy shoved the end of the stick in the sand. “I’m adding more decoration, because your parade is _boring.”_

Promptly,his seaweed banner toppled over.

After shushing Bibi for laughing, Meche helped Pugsy brace his stick in the sand, and together, they all set to work building the quiet village where the festival would be passing through. Bibi created a sloppy trail of reddish pebbles to serve as the _flor de los Muertos_ —“So the ancestors can find their way!” she said—and Pugsy stuck to making little square houses lining the streets. Meche could nearly smell the cinnamon and roasted corn in the air, and longed to take the children to a celebration of their own.

For now, a model of the real thing would have to do.

They worked the afternoon away, scouring the beach for things to decorate the parade with: shells, sticks, algae, sea glass, and whatever bits of trash peppered the shore. While they built a festival—complete with “stringed lights” Meche had constructed out of the loose threads from her unraveling skirt—she hummed a lullaby her _mama_ used to sing to her, though she’d long forgotten the words.

When they had completed their tribute to the holiday they wouldn’t get to celebrate, the sun had already begun to set--a telltale sign that Domino would be back soon. Meche relayed the news to the children, who dejectedly tore themselves away from their sand village to follow her back towards the factory.

“Wait, look,” said Bibi, stopping the party to point out towards the sea. The sunset was blazing, painting the sky shades of fiery orange and grapefruit pink. The last rays of daylight touched the outer walls of their festival in the sand, and for a moment, Meche thought she could hear the mariachi band wailing as the waves grazed against the shore.

When the sun had set and stars peppered the black sky, Meche knew that those precious moments of bliss had vanished. She hurried the children back inside and encouraged them to fly ahead. At first, they didn’t want to leave her. “What if Mr. Hurley comes back and we’re not here to protect you?” asked Pugsy. But Meche assured them she would be fine; what mattered was getting the children safely inside before the boss _did_ decide to show up.

 _I shouldn’t have been so reckless,_ Meche scolded herself, watching the _angelitos_ speed off without her. Her bare-boned feet slapping the stone as she sprinted around a corridor and located the elevator that would take her back upstairs. There was no submarine in the docking area, and it offered an ounce of comfort. She slipped into the elevator, hoping the children had found a way to close their broken cage door, and finally reached the top floor.

 _If he’s not back yet,_ Meche thought anxiously, making a mental checklist in her mind, _I’ll go clean myself up, check on the children, and start dinner before—_

That was the precise moment when the elevator doors _pinged_ open to reveal a sneering Domino Hurley.

“Hi, doll,” he said, and yanked her out of the lift.

Meche thrashed against him, but experience told her it was hopeless. Domino dragged her down the hallway, griping about how she couldn’t follow simple instructions. “I mean, really,” he said, barely flinching as she pounded him with her fists, “what did you think was gonna happen?”

Meche’s knuckles collided with his face, causing him to stumble for a second before he regained his grip on her arms. “Look, Mercedes,” he growled, stretching his jaw, “I’ve had a very long day, and I don’t appreciate coming home to find that my secretary has run off with the little shits. _Really_ annoying.”

“Children don’t belong in a cage,” Meche spat. “You’re heartless.”

“Newsflash, baby,” he began, shoving her through an industrial-looking doorway. “We _all_ are.”

Meche landed face-first on the cold tile, and before she could spring up, the heavy door had slammed and the light had vanished, plunging her into darkness.

“Why don’t you cool off in there tonight?” came Domino’s muffled voice through the metal door.

Meche pushed herself onto her hands, bones throbbing from the impact of her fall. “Don’t you touch those children!” she shouted back. “I’m going to wring your fat neck!”

His laughter cut like a saw. “Good luck from in there.”

Meche had another insult locked and loaded, but before she had the chance to fire, she picked up the sounds of a noisy skirmish, followed by Domino’s sudden cries of surprise.

“GET BACK IN YOUR CAGE, YOU LITTLE RUNTS!” he roared. “I HAVE HAD IT UP TO HERE WITH--OW! _DID YOU JUST BITE ME?!”_

Meche pressed her head against the door to hear the ruckus better. It sounded like the children were giving the boss quite a beating. Loud smacks and grunts of pain carried through to her prison.

“DON’T YOU DROP THAT LAMP!” came Domino’s voice from the other side, followed immediately by the indicatory _crash_ of that exact thing happening.

The _angelitos_ were probably flying circles around him, she thought with a fond smile.

But soon enough--and inescapably so—the noise faded into a faint hum of angry voices, leaving Meche alone in the pitch-dark. She sat with her back against the door, knees drawn to her chest, thinking about what the boss could be doing to them. She didn’t think Domino was capable of sinking as low as to hit a child, but to lock one up? He’d done it before, and he was bound to do it again.

And so, Meche let the darkness of the room envelop around her, the grainy texture of sand still clinging between her toes, like a memory that had long grown cold.

* * *

Eventually, Domino caught the two _angelitos,_ and surprisingly, kept their cage door unlocked from that day forward. This wasn’t a gesture of kindness or goodwill, no. It was just his way of saying, “If you escape again, Meche’s the one taking a time out, _capiche?”_

Oh, how the tables liked to turn.

The only thing keeping Meche here was the children, and the only thing keeping the children from running wild was Meche. The isle had become a place held together by invisible ropes, all entwined and crossed, threatening to trip whoever misstepped.

One morning, Meche stood smoking at the window in Domino’s office, staring out where the water roared over the Edge. She didn’t care if he caught her blowing smoke in his space. It was much easier to ask his forgiveness than to ask for permission, and it was easier to smoke than to dwell on the captive souls toiling in the coral mines just a few floors down.

It had only been a handful of days since Domino had caught her and the children out of bounds, but ever since spending the night in that windowless prison cell, Meche felt more determined than ever to get the children out.

Only one problem: there was no conceivable way off the island. What she needed was a phone (not that there was anyone to call), or a boat (not that any vessel came close to the Edge). What she needed was a bridge from here to civilization.

Meche exhaled her last bit of smoke, dropped her cigarette, and crushed its remains right into Domino’s floor. What she needed was a _miracle._

“Meche?”

She started. The voice was not Domino’s—it lacked the sleazy lilt—but who else could it be? Meche turned and laid eye sockets on a shorter man in a slightly dripping sea captain’s coat, his features betraying a hint of a smile.

Of all the people she’d expected to walk through the door, this man was not even on the guest list.

“Manny,” was all she could manage to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapter in which Manny Calavera shows up three years late with Starbucks.


	6. Mad Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If the road to hell was paved with good intentions, what did that say about the roads down here?"

“What are you _doing_ here?”

Even though Manny looked like he’d just emerged from the ocean—to be fair, he probably had—he strut confidently around the desk as though he was on his way to closing the biggest sale of the century.

“I wanted to see how your trip was going, angel,” Manny said smoothly. His shoes _squelched_ across the stone. “I am your travel agent, you know.”

Meche felt nothing but shock and couldn’t do much more than stare dumbly at the three upside-down triangles engraved on Manny’s forehead. His rugged, sea-weathered appearance was far from the sleek, tuxedoed Calavera she’d seen dangling off of the cruise ship last year.

“By the way, thanks for that bottle of champagne you sent me.” Manny continued, tapping the side of his skull where she could just make out a miniscule crack in the bone. “It really _hit_ _the spot.”_

Ah, yes. She remembered the satisfying _clunk_ of the bottle colliding with Manny’s head before he fell into the icy black depths. She couldn’t imagine what would have happened if his plan had succeeded and he _had_ gotten onto the boat. What then?

The question helped Meche find her voice again. “You were headed for a trap, I was trying to warn you,” she said. “Domino was using me like bait, and I didn’t want you to end up a prisoner here like me.”

“Prisoner?” Manny’s voice flattened, and his gaze flitted doubtfully from her shoes to her hat. “Where’s your cell? Or are you just sharing a bunk with the warden?”

Manuel Calavera: the reaper of her soul, her so-called travel agent, the man who’d been accused of betraying the Department of Death, and simultaneously the man who had appeared at the very last second to reclaim a job he’d been fired from. It was the same Manuel Calavera who had the audacity to accuse her of something so...petty.

Meche’s hair-trigger reaction was to slap him. She did, and the _crack_ of her hand reverberated off the walls. He looked shocked, to say the least.

“If _that’s_ what you think of me,” Meche spat hotly, putting some distance between them, “then why did you come here?”

“Because this is where he belongs: here, working for me!” On cue, Domino strode into the office, arms open wide, and Meche wasn’t sure if he meant to hug Manny or crush him. He wore the Underworld’s gaudiest ascot and reflective shades that hid the empty pits of his eye sockets. Domino lowered these as if to shoot a playful wink in Meche’s direction. “Because right or wrong, Calavera is _always_ on the winning team.”

 _Of course,_ Meche thought bitterly. Manny had come crawling out of the depths to beg Domino for a job now that the DOD was turning a profit off of...whatever back-alley business they were conducting. He wasn’t her white knight straight out of a children’s book, in the same way Domino wasn’t the man of her lies. They were scumbags hailing from different sides of the same coin, and whether she liked it or not, Meche was down in the gutter with the worst of them.

Manny had been staring at Domino since he’d entered the office, brow wrinkled as if Domino was something sticky he’d found on the bottom of his shoe. “I’m getting off this rock,” Manny said through his teeth, “and I’m taking all these people with me.”

Domino laughed, and Meche almost wanted to join him out of sheer incredulity. “Manny,” Domino said, “there’s no way off this island. I’m afraid you’re stuck here in my little executive training program.”

“What are you talking about?”

Domino sank into his leather chair, grinning with satisfaction, looking for all the world like the King of Garbage Island. “I need you to take my place here, kid. I’ve gotta get back to the city where the action is.”

That’s when the second person without an appointment showed up for the impromptu meeting. Meche leapt back in surprise as a huge demon as round and orange as a cantalope blundered past her. In a voice that blared like a trumpet in a jazz band, he said, “Sorry, Manny, but I _had_ to come in. My skin was getting all pruney.” He punctuated this by shaking out his tiny tuft of hair, showering Meche with seawater. “Oops! Sorry, miss!” he added hastily.

Domino regarded the demon for about half a second before deciding, “Him, I don’t need.”

Meche was only an inch away from where the floor collapsed beneath the demon’s feet, and he fell through the trap door with a scream. There was a _splash,_ and Meche looked to the window just in time to see something orange flail for a moment before disappearing right over the Edge. She barely had time to gasp, much less wonder about how long Domino had _that_ trick up his sleeve.

Manny looked absolutely livid. He was on Domino in a flash, the ascot fisted in his furious grasp as he growled, “I’m gonna grind you into powder for that, _cabrón!”_

In typical Domino fashion, he chuckled flippantly, hardly seeming to mind the shorter man snarling in his face. “Maybe later,” Domino said. He then reeled back and slammed his fist right into Calavera’s face, who crashed to the floor and didn’t move again.

In response to Meche’s involuntary sound of surprise, Domino said, “Relax, dollface. I’ll be fine.” He flashed her a winning smile, stretching out his bony fingers to check for damage while completely ignoring her contemptuous scoff at the notion that she would give even half of a rat’s ass about his well-being. Domino glanced down at the motionless heap of Calavera, and almost like an afterthought said, “He’ll be fine too - he’ll have to be if he’s gonna replace me.”

Meche peered over the edge of the trap door, and she felt the empty space of her stomach churn like the waters below. Unless Manny’s friend had wings, there was no chance in hell that he was in one piece. She had no words: no insults to throw in Domino’s face, not even a well-chosen remark about his tacky leisure suit. For so long, it had just been Meche and the children fighting for their humanity, but now she realized that there was so many others who were trapped under Domino’s thumb—so many others who had lost so much more, all because of him. There was nothing Meche could say that would make him feel the anger he’d stoked inside her, or make him regret a single thing he’d done.

Burning with a new wave of regrets, Meche stood off to the side hugging her shoulders, and watched Domino drag Manny’s unconscious form out of the room.

* * *

It wasn’t easy to sit down and force herself to work when the factory was stirring from the events of the morning. Meche slowly made her way through a stack of lightbulb orders—hardly paying attention to what forms went where—and huffed on her third cigarette of the day. Manny was _here;_ true, he was out cold at the moment, but he was here, and Meche didn’t have a clue where she stood on that information. She had so many questions burning to be asked, and yet she hated that she’d spent most of her nights dwelling on the man whose notorious reputation left a paper trail of lies and deceit.

Domino may have been a manipulative prick, but at least he’d never made her believe otherwise.

Desperate to busy her hands, Meche grabbed the contents of a filing cabinet and got to work arranging order forms with their coinciding shipments. She tried not to look at the clock much and lit a new cigarette to occupy her mouth while her hands flipped through folders.

It was high noon when Manny finally stumbled into her office, one bony hand resting on his scalp. With his deep blue coat, he stuck out in the colorless room like a blot of ink, not to mention the musky scent of cologne that followed him in. He must have put on a bucket load, although to be fair, he _was_ a sailor now. Maybe they had to wear that stuff.

“Oh, look, it’s my Prince Charming,” Meche said, unable to conceal her biting tone. She could feel the heat of his stare as she pointedly blew out a thin stream of smoke. “Did you come back to insult me some more? Or do you just want some ice for your head?”

Manny made a noise like he was clearing his throat. He looked sheepish. “I guess deserved that,” he said, massaging the spot where Domino had clobbered him. When Meche didn’t respond, he added awkwardly, “I, uh, like the new dress.”

Meche looked down at herself: she was wearing one of the two dresses she owned, torn in three separate places and cobbled together with scraps of mismatching fabric. Manny was severely pushing his luck.

“Well, it’s the best I could pull together out here,” Meche replied shortly.

Another silence, punctured only by the sound of Meche’s sharp hands flipping through folders.

“I...I have a lot of explaining to do,” said Manny.

“Save your breath. Domino’s explained it all to me already.”

At the mention of that name, Manny visibly stiffened.  “Has he...hurt you in any way?” he asked.

She started. The question certainly wasn’t one she knew how to answer candidly, but it did give her pause. Meche recalled all the times Domino’s rough hands had clenched around her bones or pinched her clothing. She remembered the nights spent in the pitch-darkness of the locked safe, and the days spent worrying about the wellbeing of the _angelitos._ Most of all, she remembered the old cruise butler, the workers slaving away in the coral mines, and the demon who had met his fate over the Edge. Thinking back to her years spent being dragged through the Land of the Dead, Meche realized that she’d come a long way from the woman bumbling through the Petrified Forest—perhaps even from the woman shivering in the captivity of her first Fear Demon. That toothy, dripping smile still haunted her dreams, and now, that demon had taken its new form in the shape of Domino Hurley.

But she’d learned. She’d learned not to give him the power she’d given the fear demon in the woods all those years ago. She’d learned to fight back with the little she had. She’d learned to appreciate the little victories. For as much as Domino had tried to crush her spirits, Meche took comfort in the fact that at least she’d had the tenacity to get a few licks in, herself.

“Has Domino _hurt_ you?” Manny repeated, a little urgently.

Meche shook herself out of her thoughts, remembering that there was another soul in the room. “Not as much as I’ve hurt him,” she said at last, taking a long drag from her cigarette. “Boy, can that guy take a punch.”

She turned her attention back to the orders, hoping that Manny would take the hint and go along his way, but he didn’t. He continued to stand there in front of her accumulating ashtray, shoulders relaxing a bit, but out of what? Relief, perhaps? Her concentration was so deeply disrupted by Manny’s presence, she wished he would either go, or say something even if it was just to fill the dead air.

“I met my underlings. Hurl’s keeping kids in cages now, huh?” Manny said, extracting a soggy box of cigarettes from his breast pocket and frowning as sea water trickled out of it.

“Watch the carpet,” Meche warned. “And yes. With those wings the _angelitos_ have, they’re the only things on this island Domino can’t control.” In a moment of impatience, she shoved her personal box of cigs under where Manny’s nose used to be. He hesitated, then took one gratefully. There was a spark and the faint smell of burning as he struck a match.

“Hey, if the kids can fly, can’t they go get help?” he suddenly asked.

“They can’t fly _that_ far, Manny.”

Manny exhaled a lengthy cloud of smoke in the already-smoky room. “There’s got to be another way off this barren lump of rock.”

“Well, there isn’t.” Meche shoved her cig between her teeth and yanked open a drawer in her deliberate search for a pen. “If that information is too much for you to handle, why don’t you ask your boss for the day off?”

Manny growled. “I can’t believe you think he’s my boss. He’s my arch-enemy!”

“I think he’s your boss, you think he’s my boyfriend,” she countered without looking up. “We don’t seem to have a good foundation of trust in our relationship, do we?”

Manny dropped his arm in defeat, a silver vapor curling from the end of his drag. “Look,” he muttered, “I’m sorry I implied he was your boyfriend. I do trust you.”

“Well, I trust you just about as far as I can throw you.” She tapped away some more ashes, watching as they fluttered into the silver dish, which was so needlessly fancy, one could probably eat caviar out of it.

“Is there anything I could do to convince you?”

Meche stopped what she was doing to regard Manny’s earnest expression. All she could think about was escaping with the children, hell, even the mine workers. She couldn’t think of a single soul that deserved to be here, save for one. If Manny was so eager to get into her good graces—even if he was acting as Domino’s puppet—she wondered if she could use this to her advantage.

“You know what you could do for me?” Meche said. “You could give me your gun.”

Manny looked as though she’d asked him to do a backflip. “What makes you think I have a gun?” he asked blankly.

She could have smacked him again. “Did Domino knock your head loose? You work for the most heavily-armed organization in the Land of the Dead!”

“I don’t work for the most heavily-armed organization _anywhere,”_ Manny protested.

“Oh, _please._ You ripped off the DOD, disappeared, and now you’re here to steal my commission from Domino and get back in the boss’ good graces. That’s it, isn’t it?”

“I’m not after any commission, I just want to get us all out of here!”

Meche slammed down a file folder in her fury, but the sudden force caused her to drop her lit cigarette right onto her lap. She gasped as the sparks landed on her thigh, singeing a hole right through her only pair of silk stockings.

 _“Don’t,”_ she snarled at Manny, who had rushed forward to help. Suppressing hot, angry tears, she carefully rolled down the stocking, exposing her leg bone in all its naked glory. Meche tossed the ruined silk into the wastebasket, ignoring Manny’s flushing skull. “You try having one nice thing on this cruel island,” she snapped.

Manny stuck the rest of his cigarette into the sterling ashtray, almost apologetically. “I’m going to get us out of here. You, me, the kids, and whoever’s down in the mines. I promise.”

“Manny,” she said with exasperation, “Why don’t you come back when you’re ready to deal straight with me, okay?”

He left with his head down, making her wonder if she’d spoken too harshly, and wonder if he meant everything he’d said. She couldn’t imagine Manny swinging a heater around like a...criminal. But according to Domino, the DOD was packing heat, and she needed to get her hands on a weapon if there was any chance of getting out of the sweatshop on the Edge of the World.

Meche cracked open another box of files and buried herself in paperwork. Maybe Manny had meant well all along. Maybe Domino had been wrong about his character—he’d been known to bend the truth. But regardless of Manny’s virtuous claims that he was here to rescue her and every other occupant on the island, Meche was still one gun short of trusting his word. And if the road to hell was paved with good intentions, what did that say about the roads down here? 

* * *

For the rest of the day, Meche caught glimpses of Manny in passing. He seemed to be allowed to come and go as he pleased: wandering around the factory, venturing down into the mines, and popping in occasionally to check on the children. Domino must have trusted Manny to let him have free rein of the place—either that, or Domino felt quite assured that Manny would cooperate eventually. It was bizarre to see him in the flesh (metaphorically) when Meche had grown so accustomed to only seeing Calavera in dreams. Still, she avoided conversation at all costs. It was sort of her way of reminding him that she wouldn’t be taking him seriously until he handed over his DOD-issued weapon.

Her plan of escape was a loose one, but it was all she had, and the whole thing hinged on getting ahold of a firearm. Manny could play dumb for as long as he wanted. She could wait.

When the workday finally came to its close, Meche went to bring the children their supper. She entered the room in the middle of a furious game of Go Fish, and opened the cage door to set the soup bowls onto the floor where a deck of playing cards had been spread out across every inch.

“Dinner,” she announced, but the children seemed too engrossed in the game. Meche kneeled down to poke her head inside the cage. “So, what do you kids think of your new boss?” she tried again, in a voice as casual as she could muster.

Pugsy was scanning his hand for matching numbers, scowling. _“Mean,”_ he said. “Or...well, Mister Hurley _said_ the new boss was gonna be mean.”

“He _was_ mean,” said Bibi, setting down a pair of cards to add to all her winnings. “He said he had a bone saw!”

“Oh, yeah, he did. He made Bibi cry.”

“You cried too, you big crybaby.”

_“I DID NOT! STOP MAKING UP LIES YOU BED-WETTING LIAR!”_

“All right, that’s enough!” Meche interjected, watching as Bibi smugly took another card from the middle pile and added it to her stash. Something _clicked_ in Meche’s head. “Where did you two get this deck?” she asked. The children’s only entertainment only consisted of books, and even then Domino locked those up during work hours.

Bibi scratched her blue beanie. “Oh. The Mean Boss gave it to us.”

Meche took one of the cards and studied it: faded, old, and punctured with perfect holes Meche could only assume came from a hole puncher. It was a well-loved deck, if not in strange condition. “Mister Calavera gave these to you?”

“Yeah,” said Pugsy. “So like...I guess he wasn't _all_ mean.”

“No, I guess not,” Meche replied, and watched quietly as the kids continued their game.

* * *

There was no more coffee in the cabinet the next morning when Meche went to make Domino his daily grind, and she immediately prepared herself for a caffeine-deprived tantrum. But when she broke the news to him, Domino merely shrugged and said, “Won’t be long before I’m back on dry land, where they have coffee in vats.” He then faced Meche, pale sunlight casting his face in shadow. “You gonna miss me, babe?”

“I’m going to make sure you _never_ see dry land again,” she replied.

“You know, Calavera said something very similar to me the other day. What’s up with that? Pillow-talk?” Domino leaned forward, teeth glinting. “You two get cozy yet?”

Meche had no eyes to roll, so she turned on her heel instead.

“I know it gets pretty lonely out here!” he called after her. “I'm sure you'll give your new boss the same respect you gave me!”

The image of leaving Domino stranded on his island all alone helped to repress the words she wanted to hurl at him. _Soon,_ she reminded herself. _Soon I’ll be rid of him for good._

“Soon” came much more quickly than she anticipated. That very afternoon while she was tidying up the bookshelf, Manny entered her space, a battered-looking gun laying flat in his hands.

“Here,” he said, handing it over butt-first. “What's a good relationship without trust?”

She took it quickly, testing the lightweight of the rough grip. She hadn't expected him to load the thing before giving it to her freely, but he’d done more than she expected just by giving it to her at all. Calavera had _actually_ handed over his weapon.

“I’m glad you decided to come around. After all, a relationship without trust…” Meche took the small Sproutella dart from the brim of her cap—the one she’d found in Domino’s desk—and loaded it into the empty chamber, _“...is like a gun without bullets.”_

The whole thing took a fraction of a second, but Meche’s instincts had been hard-wired to grasp opportunities like this by the horns. She’d never even handled a firearm before, but adrenaline seemed to serve as one hell of a teacher in a pinch. Meche aimed the gun right on the triangle of Calavera’s forehead, excitement coursing through her. “Guess you didn't realize a smart girl always keeps an extra round in her hat for mad days,” she said, waving him towards the inner door to Domino’s office.

“Meche,” Manny hissed. “You don't know what you're—”

“I know exactly what I'm doing. Now _move!”_ Meche prodded him with the heater towards the open door, and he raised his hands in mild surrender.

“If you would listen to _my_ escape plan first…” Manny tried, but Meche was done listening.

It was time to act.

Poking him with the muzzle of the gun, she led Manny right up to Domino’s desk, who appeared more amused than alarmed to see her shoving a Sproutella between his replacement’s eyes.

“Trouble in paradise, kiddos?” Domino drawled.

Meche ignored him. “You're letting us go right now, or your boy Friday here gets it!”

Domino stepped out from behind his desk, a fake pout on his face, and casually advanced. Why wasn’t he stopping? “Well, I hate to see you go, Manny,” Domino said, “but the lady does seem to have made up her mind.”

“I’m serious,” Meche said, jabbing the gun back in Manny’s direction, hard. “I’ll shoot him!”

“Go ahead,” Domino sneered. “He doesn’t really work for me anyway.”

The pistol suddenly seemed much heavier in her hand. “But, I thought…” She looked back at Manny, realization hitting her like the fifth ill-advised martini of the evening: the only liar here was Domino Hurley.

“I’ll shoot you, then,” Meche said, turning to aim at the real criminal.

But, as usual, he took advantage of her hesitation and wrenched her arm behind her back, relinquishing the gun from her fingers. “No, you won’t,” he said softly into her neck as he casually aimed the gun in Manny’s direction (much to Manny’s chagrin). “You’re too good, remember?”

“I’m _not!”_ she retorted. Domino twisted her arm, propelling her towards the door and down the hall. “You’ve taken that away, keeping me a prisoner here!”

She knew exactly where he was taking her, but that didn’t stop the flow of outbursts spilling forth. “I’m gonna crack you open like a fake Ming vase!” she shouted. _“I’m gonna—!”_

_SLAM._

And Meche was back on the cold floor of the safe, plunged in darkness. She pounded her fists on the impenetrable door, even knowing just how futile it was. As she thumped her forehead against the cool steel, she felt all the rage trickle out of her and leave only a single thought of bitter regret: “Well, Manny,” she said aloud into the hollow vault, despite herself, “I guess I’ve got no choice but to trust you.”


	7. I'm Not Calling You a Liar

Because she’d been tossed into the vault so many times before, Meche knew that screaming never got her anything but a sore throat and less air circulating in the cold space. Resigned to feeling like a child on timeout, she retired to the far end of the room, head back against the stone, and tried to rest. She realized it was fruitless—after all, she hadn't had a decent night’s sleep since dying. She often woke up two or three times during her naps, always at the mercy of her nightmares. Today, Meche’s sleep was ambushed with images of Manny, flowers twisting and pushing through the holes of his skull: sprouted. She awoke with a small scream, remembering when flowers used to signify something less sinister, and knowing that she might as well have brought that loaded gun to Domino on a silver platter.

If Calavera wasn’t sprouted by now, Domino had undoubtedly exercised his animosity and sent him to join his demon friend over the Edge.

 _It’s all my fault,_ she thought, head nodding heavily until a restless sleep overtook her.

* * *

A blinding flash followed by a thunderous _CLANG_ wrenched Meche from her reverie. She scrambled off the floor, slipping once on the stone, to face whoever had flooded the room with light. To her great surprise, a short, broad-shouldered skeleton stood at the opposite end of the vault, entangled in what looked like an electrical panel near the doorway.

“Manny!” Meche cried, overwhelmed with relief at the sight of Calavera in one piece. He wasn’t sprouted, after all. In fact, he turned around to beam in her direction, leaning triumphantly on the same scythe he used to harvest her soul all those years ago.

“I'm not just your travel agent,” he said with confidence. “You’re looking at a master locksmith over here.”

“Oh, Manny, I just knew you would—!” Meche froze, voice dropping as she asked, “—why is that door closed?"

Manny’s expression fell, and he whirled around to see that whatever he’d done to turn the lights on had, in exchange, shut the door, locking them in.

“Um...the wind?” he said feebly.

Meche faced the wall again, pressing her forehead into it. “You were _this_ close, Manny,” she grumbled.

She heard his feet shuffling behind her and the tap of his staff as he approached. “Okay, so I locked the door,” he said with an air of unwarranted optimism. “No big deal. We’ll just have to find another way out. If I've learned anything in the Land of the Dead, it's that there's _always_ a solution, even if you can’t see it at first.”

“Don't you think I've combed every inch of this place?” Meche asked. “I have special reservations here at least three nights a week.”

Manny didn’t look away from the suit of armor perched in the now-lit corner, but she saw his expression fall in the dull reflection. “Nice to hear Hurl took good care of you.”

“I'm just lucky, I guess,” she replied. “If you really want to look around, be my guest, just please do it _quietly._ I’m exhausted.”

“Sure. Yeah. Of course.”

Feeling suddenly crowded in the space, she sighed. “If you need to ask me something,” Meche said, “please don’t. I’ll be over here.” She started to walk in the direction of the next room when she abruptly halted. _There’s never been a next room._

Lo and behold, where there used to be a wall of drawers there was now a distinct doorway leading into a bright, tiled space: a secret entrance. Calavera must have opened it while he was messing with the door panel, whether on accident or on purpose.

“I...knew that was there,” Meche said.

He gave a bow as though he was a tiny butler. “After you.”

Meche stepped into the new room, still flabbergasted that it had been here the whole time and she never once noticed. She almost would have said it looked like an old utility shower; the floor was made up of cracked, square tiles, and pipes of various sizes snaked across the ceiling. The only thing that appeared out of place was the pile of briefcases in shades of brown and black, stacked as high as her shoulder blades. Knowing now that these were what Domino primarily used the safe for, Meche made a beeline for the cases—stumbling on the raised center tile—and unlatched the brown suitcase on top. It _clicked_ open, and a soft, golden glow landed on her face.

The suitcase was filled to bursting with Double-N tickets.

 _“Dios mio,”_ came Manny’s voice from behind. “These must be all the tickets Hector and Dom have stolen over the years.”

“There must be _thousands_ here,” Meche marveled, almost wanting to brush her fingers against them, but she thought better of it. Every single one of these was worth more than its weight in gold, and more than worth dying for. “What are they doing with all of these?”

Manny stared at the mountain of vouchers—absently leaning his scythe against the wall—and rubbed his jaw as though this question was the one he’d been trying to answer for a lifetime. “My guess is as good as yours,” he said.

Meche hovered near the briefcases, still transfixed, while Manny resumed his investigation of the place. A solid ten minutes passed in pensive silence, except for his occasional _“hm”_ of curiosity as he poked tiles and prodded walls. In the middle of his search, he tripped on the very tile she had also stumbled over. As he swore under his breath, Meche took the break in the stillness to say, “That wasn't your gun, was it?”

Manny looked up from where he was inspecting the tile, and hesitated before saying, “No.”

Meche sighed and crossed her arms, wishing she had a cigarette to tap or something to occupy her hands. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t trust you,” she said while painstakingly inspecting a tiny crack in the wall, the words feeling foreign in her mouth. “It’s just that…I haven’t had a good reason to trust people for a long time.”

He didn’t scoff at her excuse, like Domino was prone to do. “Well,” Manny said, his voice betraying a note of humor, “thanks for not sprouting me.”

Something inside lifted, and despite herself, Meche almost smiled. “Anytime.”

Another silence fell between them for a moment, but it was not unwelcome.

“So...let’s say I _hadn't_ landed us in here,” Meche began, turning to face him properly, “what would your escape plan have been?”

Manny, having stuck his hands in every inch of the room by now, leaned up against the concrete wall for a break. “Nothing too elaborate,” he said, wiping his brow. “At first, I thought some sort of heist would be fun, but that was before I kind of stumbled across an old ship dangling off the Edge.”

“Wh—did you say a _ship?”_

“I think it belonged to a friend back in Rubacava, if I'm remembering the name right. The _Lamancha?”_ Manny scratched his skull while Meche continued to gawk. She’d been on this island for months, and not once did she see any trace of a ship. “Anyway, I shouldn’t take credit. Glottis found it first. He wanted to fix it up before we shoved off, and let me tell you, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this happy to—”

“Glottis?” Meche was struggling to keep up. “Wait, that was your friend who…?”

“He’s fine! Very much alive. He’s having a great time, actually.”

Meche felt like she needed to lie down, too overwhelmed to think straight. “I’m glad to hear he’s okay,” she finally said. “And I...I’m glad you’ve handled things.”

“Don’t thank me until we’re all out on the water,” said Manny, stepping back to stare at the cavernous ceiling, then back towards the suitcases. He huffed, his mouth a grave line. “There’s something missing here, I just know it,” he mumbled. “What does Hector even plan on _doing_ with all of these tickets? It’s not like they can be sold. They’re useless.”

Meche could see a dozen of her rippled reflections staring back at her in the glossy outsides of the Double-N tickets. All the miners slaving away at this factory, the innocent _angelitos_...they’d all been cruelly robbed of their reward. “Each ticket belongs to a good soul,” she said, shaking her head. “And now they just...sit there.”

Manny suddenly snapped his bony fingers, and the sound reverberated across the walls. “That’s it!” he said. _“They just sit there!”_

She looked from the cases and back to Manny. “So?” she asked with mild concern.

He crossed the room to get a closer look. “Back in the days when I was a salesman, I saw Double-N tickets all the time. And they _move.”_ He picked up one of the vouchers as a demonstration. “They become agitated around human souls, and the ticket that belongs to you will actually fly into your hand.” Manny tossed the golden slip, and it flitted lifelessly back onto the pile. “But it's almost as if these are _dead.”_

“So Hector and Domino aren’t selling Double-N tickets,” Meche said, catching on. “They’re selling counterfeits.”

“Hurl said something about making the Land of the Dead _livable,”_ Manny said, slamming the briefcase shut. “But that still doesn’t answer where your real tickets went. What’s Hector hiding?”

He seemed so agitated, but Meche had a difficult time placing why. He wasn’t acting as an official member of the DOD anymore, now that they proved corrupt. And as far as she knew, Manny didn't claim ownership of a Double-N ticket for himself, otherwise he wouldn’t be here. What did he stand to gain? Why did he care at all?

But as Meche stepped forward to ask him that exact question, the toe of her shoe caught itself on the center tile again, sending her lurching forward. “Ugh!” she uttered and glared at the raised spot on the floor. “I keep tripping over this—” Meche squinted, and for the first time, noticed a miniscule sliver of light emitting from the space where the tile had tripped her. Quickly, she knelt to get a better view. _Even if you can’t see it at first..._

“We need to pry this off,” she said, aware of the pounding in her chest where her heart used to beat. “Here, you can use your scythe and slip it under the tile and—” but as she looked up, Manny was gone, run off to the next room, his scythe lay quite forgotten on the floor. “Or...I’ll just do it.” With an annoyed huff, she rolled up her sleeves and grabbed the abandoned scythe to pry up the offending tile. It was long, heavy, and she didn’t like being near such a vicious-looking blade on the best of occasions, especially one so chillingly associated with death. Feeling a bit silly about still harboring superstition for her demise—already come to pass, she reminded herself—she carefully positioned the tip and started to jimmy the tile.

“Stand back!” said Manny from nearby, and Meche turned just in time to see his rear end crowding her vision. She reared back in shock, and he lurched backward, dragging with both hands the heavy axe from the suit of armor. With an obtrusive grunt, he positioned the heavy end of the weapon over the tile, steadied himself, and with an upward heave, let it drop with a resounding _CRACK._ The tile shattered and revealed an opening: the mouth of a large drainage pipe dropping straight down.

“I think,” Manny panted, grinning, “you just found our way out.”

Meche moved to inspect their handiwork, only just realizing she was still clutching the scythe, and hastily proffered the awkward thing back towards its owner. With a smirk, Manny reached out and grabbed it by the handhold, and she almost couldn’t believe the transformation from clunky absurdity to graceful tool in the hands of a master. His fingers did something to the staff, and with a deft flick of his hand, a hidden mechanism was triggered. Before her eyes, the staff was rapidly collapsing in on itself, making a series of _snaps_ as the pieces folded crisply into each other until suddenly, he was holding a rod no longer than a pen, which he tucked neatly into his coat pocket. The silhouette was barely visible against his chest—she wouldn’t even have noticed it if she hadn’t known it was there. It wasn’t until she heard his satisfied chuckle that Meche realized her mouth was hanging open. She shut it with a sharp _clack_ , and for once she was glad she didn’t have skin that could flush in embarrassment.

As though sensing her discomfort, Manny said for no reason in particular, “My scythe and I have been through a lot down here.” He patted the breast pocket fondly. “I like to keep it where my heart used to be.”

Meche was struck by the inherent danger of a man who had replaced a vital organ with a deadly weapon. Pushing the thought aside, Meche stuck her legs over the edge of the hole—just big enough for one skeleton to slip through at a time. She could feel a faint breeze ghosting up her bones, and a brief wave of panic swept over her.

“Manny?” she asked. He waited patiently for her to find her thoughts, while Meche lingered in his gaze a few seconds too long. “I…I’m really glad Glottis is okay,” she finally stammered weakly.

It wasn’t what she wanted to say, but then again, what _had_ she wanted to say?

Manny exhaled whatever breath he’d been holding. “Me too,” he replied, and his reassurance gave her the extra push she needed to drop down into the pale light.

* * *

They landed in a grimy tunnel with low ceilings, so even Manny had to bend slightly to get through. Despite the slow trek through the inch-high sludge, the sound of the ocean echoed reassuringly off the walls; the promise that freedom was near. Meche shielded her face from the sunshine as they stepped out of the sewer and onto the sand, and the sudden warmth almost made her laugh out loud.

 _Almost._ They weren’t out of the woods yet.

“Manny! Miss Colomar! Over here!”

Though she’d only seen him once, Meche recognized Glottis straightaway. He was waving to them from across the beach, standing beside the most beautiful sight she’d seen in years: a ship. Above Glottis’ head, the _angelitos_ were flying in circles, caught up in a game of tag. Stunned, Meche could only observe them playing carefree on the beach and out of their cages. When they saw Meche, they zoomed over, talking a mile a minute.

“Meche! Did you see the boat? Glottis said we could leave _today!”_ said Pugsy.

“What took you so long? Mr. Calavera said he was going to get you _hours_ ago,” Bibi interjected.

“Sorry, babies. We were...delayed a bit,” Meche said, giving them each a hug in turn as she fought feelings of unrest, remembering the last time they’d been together out here and what Domino had destroyed as a result. _This time is different,_ she firmly reminded herself, _this time we’re getting out for real_.

As the children flew off again to stretch their wings, Meche crossed the rest of the shoreline to reach the orange demon. He was wiping black grease from his hands when they approached, and Meche felt herself well up with something akin to affection for the big, dirty demon—proof that there were some things in this world that even Domino Hurley couldn’t destroy.

“I’m so glad to see you, Glottis!” Meche said, giving his arm a squeeze, though she would have needed ten hands to fit around the circumference of it.

Glottis, mouth stretching into a toothy smile, waved her off bashfully. “Aww,” he said. “You too, miss.”

Manny was rubbing his hands together, nodding up at the _Lamancha_ with expectancy. “Nice work, _mano!_ How’s she looking?”

Glottis looked down at Meche, hands on his hips. “Well, gee, she looks just as pretty as the way you described her, Manny!”

Manny coughed, his eye sockets widening. “I meant the _ship,”_ he said pointedly.

As Meche hid a snort behind one hand, Glottis launched into his report: he’d restored the ship’s engine and buffed up some of the interiors, and Meche was very surprised to hear that they had used the factory’s crane to haul up the great ship from where it was rusting. Manny had certainly made use of his time here on the island and had utilized Domino’s own resources against him.

She was impressed, but some small, guilty part of her was still skeptical. She hung back a bit, quietly observing him from a distance, trying to parse his bigger motive as he spoke animatedly with the demon about the repairs. Why was he willing to go to all this trouble for a few lost souls? What did Manny gain from it all?

“It floats and everything, but that was the easy part,” continued Glottis. “The hard part was figuring out how to bust through that coral reef out there. But that’s why I installed _these babies!”_ With a grand flourish, Glottis gestured to the very tip of the boat, where two strange crushers had been attached. Meche wasn’t sure where they had come from or what they’d been originally used for, but she had to give the demon credit for creativity.

“Good work, Glottis,” said Manny, patting his friend on the belly—one of the few places he could reach. “And the other souls?”

“Boarded and ready to go. And now that the lady is here, everyone will be present and accounted for!”

Meche wondered how the two had been able to plan such an elaborate scheme...all behind Domino’s back. The image of Manny venturing down into the mines to gather up the workers and orchestrate a mass exodus was at such odds with the image of him she had created in her mind. Domino had made Calavera out to be his slimy sycophant, when he was really turning out to be quite the opposite with each passing minute.

“All aboard!” sang Glottis, giving a tiny salute to the crew of four. The children wasted no time flying up onto the _Lamancha’s_ deck, Manny and Meche in tow, and finally Glottis bringing up the rear. They joined a small crowd of bedraggled but hopeful-looking souls puttering about, some of them still clutching their mining tools. When Manny appeared, there were scattered murmurs followed by a few shouts of excitement.

“All right, folks!” Manny called above the noise. “Grab onto something or get below deck, because it’s time to get off this rock!”

Cheers rang out over the crowd while Manny and Glottis went to work raising the anchor and gunning the engine, which roared over the crashing sound of waves against rock.

“Full speed ahead!”

Meche dashed to the edge of the boat, gripping the rusted railing as they lurched into the waters. The salty wind whipped through her limbs and nearly whisked her hat away, but nothing else mattered now that Domino’s island was growing smaller behind them. She could hear grinding as the crushers leading the boat made small work of the coral reef blocking the way, and soon they were on open water. Everyone on deck whooped and applauded, and even Meche laughed out of unadulterated relief.

Somehow, some way, they had escaped.

It took some time before the hubbub died down—people Meche had never officially met before sweeping her up into hugs and boisterous handshakes—but the joy spilling over the _Lamancha_ was nothing short of contagious.

“Keep her steady, Glottis!” rang out Manny’s voice. He appeared a second later from the control room, and from a distance, Meche saw him sharing words and celebratory pats with some of the other passengers. When he turned in her direction, Meche quickly averted her gaze to watch the _angelitos_ gliding in and out of the crowd. After a moment, she heard Manny come stand beside her, his coat brushing briefly against her dress as he leaned up against the rail.

“Hey,” she said, playing with a loose thread on her sleeve. “How did you two manage to get everyone on the boat?”

“That’s on Domino,” said Manny with an air of innocence. “I kept telling him we were planning an escape, but he just wouldn’t listen.”

Meche laughed and nudged him playfully in the shoulder, and they watched the island fade into the distance. She had a hard time convincing herself she was awake—after all, Meche hardly knew what the Land of the Dead was like without Domino breathing down her neck. For years, Manny Calavera had existed only as a spectral carbon copy of Domino, a looming threat for what waited if she ever managed to escape from her current living nightmare—if Hurley was the frying pan, Calavera was the fire. But now, standing next to the man in person, surrounded by people who owed their freedom to his actions, she could hardly believe she wasn’t dreaming, that someone in this nightmare of an afterlife could be so selfless.

In fact, she didn’t believe it. Everyone in this world was looking for ways to put themselves ahead, first and foremost, and this stunt of Calavera’s couldn’t be any different...could it?

The question burned on her ghost of a tongue. “Are you really going to bring me back to El Marrow to get your old job back?” she asked slowly, fingers grazing a small part of the rail untouched by rust.

Manny’s eye sockets followed her delicate fingers as they inched closer to him. “There’s no job for me now except to bring you and everyone else here to the end of the road,” he replied.

Smooth-talker, but she knew better than to let him mislead her. “But if you aren’t going to use me to get your job back,” Meche pressed, needing to know the answer without the glaze of honeyed words, “why did you spend all this time trying to find me?”

“Meche, I…” Manny began, but trailed off. They’d shifted close—so close that the short brim of Meche’s hat grazed his forehead—and the intensity of Calavera’s stare rendered her quite dazed. “...I _needed_ to find you.”

Startled at the sincerity in his voice, Meche thought back to all the chances he had to prove her right, to prove that he was cut from the same cloth as Domino Hurley. But everything Manny had done up to this point—leaping for the edge of that cruise ship, boarding a boat headed for the Edge of the World, and even fulfilling her ridiculous request for a gun just to get her to trust him—it had all led up to this moment, and for whatever reason, it had led him right to _her._

There was a deafening _CLANG_ and the boat jerked violently forward, sending Meche careening headfirst into Manny’s chest. He caught her, quickly setting her upright so the two of them could look over the edge and see what had slammed into the port side. Meche immediately recognized the octopus-powered submarine as it broke the surface of the water and emerging from the hatch was Domino himself. He bared his teeth when he caught sight of the two and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I gave you one job, Manny!” he shouted. “And look at you, already screwing it up!”

Manny’s posture stiffened, his fists clenched, and before Meche could even think to stop him, he jumped.

_“Manny!”_

He crashed onto the top of the sub, five feet from where Domino was growling, and got shakily to his feet. “This is between you and me, _pendejo!”_ Meche barely heard him shout over the waves below.

Meche could see the ugly gleam of Domino’s grin from here. He unfurled something from his jacket pocket—a scythe of his own, she recognized suddenly—and pointed the curved blade in Manny’s direction. “Don’t be a hero, Calavera. Once I’m done with you—” he nodded hungrily toward Meche, cracked sunglasses glinting in the sun, “—these souls are all gonna know what it means to die twice!”

It was only when Manny unsheathed his own weapon that the submarine gurgled and sped off around the tanker. Meche sprinted along the length of the ship to keep up, catching a glimpse of the demon-octopus’ monstrous eyeball before the submarine rushed by the _Lamancha_ like a freight train. Meche clung to the bars of the bow, leaning out as far as she dared to catch sight of the two skeletons interlocked in a furious battle in the distance. She could see their scythes flashing with each blow but was too far away to make out who was winning. The other souls had joined her to see what all the commotion was about.

“He’s got Manny!” she cried, hardly able to hear anything over the rumble of the crushers below. “Someone tell Glottis to speed this thing up!”

Luckily, Bibi was in earshot and flapped in the direction of the control room. The _Lamancha_ stuttered, then heaved forward, splashing everyone with salty ice water. Meche wiped her face and urged the boat on.

“This doesn’t look good!” said a man standing beside her. She wasn’t sure where he’d gotten them, but he had a pair of binoculars pressed against his eye sockets. “Mr. Calavera’s no match for that sonofabitch!” He handed them off to Meche, who fixed the lenses on the sub just in time to see Domino slash through the air, catching Manny’s chest and nearly throwing him off the edge.

“Come on,” she pleaded, gripping the binoculars so hard the bones in her fingers ached. He scooted backwards to press his back up against the encased eye of the beast, her gut lurching as Domino’s downward blow missed him by an inch. Manny couldn’t hold his own for much longer, and the submarine was simply too fast and too far out of reach for the _Lamancha_ to catch up in time.

Just then, she saw Manny reel his scythe back, but instead of slicing Domino a new mouth hole, he sank the sharp end right into the sub’s periscope behind him: right into the octopus’ eye. There was a high-pitched squeal as the octopus slipped out of the great metal container and sped off into the sea. Without its navigator, the submarine shuddered and stopped altogether, drifting so it lay in a horizontal line against the horizon. The _Lamancha_ , however, advanced relentlessly forward, its crushers grinding away.

All at once, Meche saw the hitch in this plan, hearing her thoughts echoing in the rising panic of the crowd around her.

“He’ll be crushed!” someone said.

“Give him something to grab on to!”

“It’s too late!”

_“Look!”_

The submarine was close enough for Meche to see the back of Domino’s head as he held Calavera at scythe-point. Domino was so absorbed in whatever he was saying, he didn’t seem to realize that the octopus-powered sub was useless without its octopus, or that the sub was slowly being sucked towards the _Lamancha_ ’s crushers.

Meche caught his very last words, screamed shrilly above the wind: “Why aren’t you more like _me,_ Manny? I’ve been trying to show you how but you don’t listen! If you’d just adopt the proper attitude, just look what could happen to you!”

From where she was, Meche couldn’t see the display, but from the sickening _crunch_ , she could guess. A horrible, high-pitched scream rang out and was suddenly silenced—it sounded like Hurley had finally met a problem he couldn’t fast-talk his way out of.

Manny was not far behind, scrambling up the capsizing submarine. Meche barely saw him shield his face before slipping out of her range of sight.

_“No!”_

She braced herself for it, but there was no telltale grinding to indicate that Calavera had met his fate. Instead, she caught the sound of heaving, and a second later, saw two sets of wings fluttering upwards: the _angelitos_ with Manny firmly secured in their tiny grasps, lifting him up and out of danger. The crowd of souls backed up to clear a space on the deck, which was where the children unceremoniously dumped him.

“Geez, you’re heavy!” Pugsy grumbled, rolling his shoulders and massaging his wings.

Meche hurried over to kneel beside a very disoriented Manny, who kept trying to push himself up despite his elbows collapsing, his chest rising and falling rapidly as though he still had a breath he could catch. Upon closer inspection, the fight had taken a greater toll than she’d thought—she saw flashes of white bone through numerous tears in his overcoat, and his skull had been decorated with a number of new nicks and scratches.

“Don’t move,” Meche scolded, pulling off his coat to check him for damage. “What were you thinking?”

Manny let her fuss over his chest, her hands moving methodically over each of his ribs in turn, his frame shuddering and relaxing subconsciously under her gentle touch. “I was thinking I needed to get Hurl off your tails,” he said, his voice slurring, betraying the force of that blow to the head. “And can I just say— _ow, careful—_ who practices Oxford-regulation boxing but pulls out a blade when it’s time to fight? Domino Hurley, that’s who.”

“Please don't make light of this. He could have _killed_ you!” she said, voice tinged with warning as she occupied her hands with the hairline crack creeping around the back of his skull.

A slap-happy giggle slipped out of Manny’s mouth, his head lolling to meet her gaze with a giddy grin. “Meche,” he leaned forward haphazardly and patted her hands with his own, “we’re already dea—”

She yanked her arms away. _“For God’s sake, Manny, I think what just happened proves that there are things here worse than death!”_ she spat, emotions running faster than she could keep up. “You can't go jumping overboard when you've got a whole group of people here _relying_ on you! What about those things you said about getting all these lost souls to the end of the road? What would they have done if you’d followed Domino under the boat?”

Meche had almost never been given the opportunity to run out of steam in a rant before—especially with Domino Hurley’s notoriously short fuse. Manny stared at her vicious expression, and she braced herself for a slap that never came. Instead, Manny dropped his gaze ashamedly to the rotting deck, and she felt like her words had come out a bit harsher than she intended.

“If we…if we lose you,” she continued in a much gentler tone, “we’re not going to make it to the end of that road.”

He nodded, almost losing control of his heavy head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I promise I’ll never try to pick a fight with Domino Hurley ever again.”

That would have to do, she thought with a roll of her eye sockets, and carefully helped Manny to his shaking feet. He was heavy, but she let him lean on her shoulder as she dragged him in the direction of the stairs leading below deck.

“Tell Glottis I can take over the wheel,” he slurred.

“No,” she replied, “I need to bandage you up.”

“I can do it, I've got it,” Manny insisted, immediately missing the railing and almost bashing his head on the doorframe.

Meche tightened her grip on his waist. “Well, you're lucky I've got _you,”_ she said.

His shoulders slumped. “Yeah,” he said simply, and as the two descended the stairs, they caught the distinct voice of Glottis floating down:

“Next stop: _PUERTO ZAPATO!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaand they're finally out! i was excited to finally writing tiny Manny/Meche things. next stop: MORE PERIL.


	8. Lamancha

Back when she was alive, Meche used to dream of embarking on a sea voyage: salty sea air, crystal blue waters, and skin bronzed from the sun. She remembered clearly a color-printed magazine one of the other volunteers had brought into the orphanage one day, and on the cover was a glowing woman standing on a pristine beach with hibiscus flowers braided in her long, black hair. The image had enchanted her, and though she’d never told a soul, Meche had taken the magazine back to her room to flip through the flashy pages detailing luxurious cruises, island tours, swimming with fish, and soaking up the breathtaking sunsets she’d never find in the village where she was stationed. She’d even tried to braid flowers in her own hair one evening, with very little success.

Of course, she’d never had the chance to go on one of those cruises the magazine had described. How could she when there were children with no homes and no one to love them? An indulgent trip on a boat—even a small one—was an unnecessary frivolity Meche simply didn’t have the time for. Someone always came first—a sick friend, a hungry child, a church or a shelter—and Meche had always considered herself a tiny bit selfish for keeping that magazine hidden in her shoe box of keepsakes.

The funny thing was that it had taken a deadly case of chickenpox to send Meche on the sea adventure she’d never had in life. In fact, since her death, she could count _two_ sea voyages, not including the horrible excursion with that octopus-powered submarine. Her first voyage had been wrapped in all the luxuries that old magazine had bragged about, although being Domino’s prisoner, she hardly had the time—or conscience—to enjoy any of them. Her second sea voyage could not have been more different: instead of warm sunshine, each morning on the _Lamancha_ was greeted with cold fog; instead of shrimp cocktails, stale bread was served; and there weren’t enough blankets on board to keep everyone warm on the bitter nights.

Despite the clunker that was the resurrected ship, Meche would gladly say that the company far outweighed the _Lamancha’s_ downfalls. This time, there was no warden threatening innocent bystanders in an attempt to keep her in line. Instead of a boat overflowing with ignorant passengers, this one was occupied by some of the humblest souls Meche had ever been in proximity to—which made perfect sense, since every single one of them had originally qualified for Double-N Tickets. Spirits rang high with Glottis at the helm—it was hard to be downcast when he was speeding along, boisterous jazz numbers and scatting for hours on end. Though there wasn’t much to see besides the occasional ice burg, people kept themselves busy during the day with playing cards, trading skills, and sometimes making music. There was a couple on board—Ignacio and Silvia, Meche heard them called—who used to have a travelling act, and on most nights, they entertained the others with dozens of folk songs, sung in perfect harmony. Even though there were no guitars or other accompaniment to speak of, the people danced on the deck, singing along and clapping to the music in the dim light of the lanterns. Meche never took part, but she swelled with a sort of cautious optimism at the sight the souls swinging each other about as though they had already made it to the Temple Gates.

But they weren’t there yet. There was still a ways to go before they reached Puerto Zapato, let alone the End Of The Line, and Meche would only let herself relax once every forgotten soul was taken care of. It was what she’d always done with her volunteer work, it was what she did for the _angelitos_ under Domino’s reign, and it was what she knew she had to do now. She couldn't allow herself rest, or a moment of pleasure, when there were souls in need of extra blankets, a bedtime story, or someone to distribute rations. Even her thin shawl felt heavy around her shoulders when she thought about how, maybe, someone else may have needed it more than she did.

No, no, dreams of braiding flowers in her hair and dancing the night away—as always—would have to wait.

* * *

The temperature steadily plummeted the closer the ship approached Puerto Zapato, and it wasn't long before nearly everyone was spending nights huddled below deck under every blanket and coat on board. Meche didn’t much like the memory of being enclosed by four metal walls like the safe back at the Edge of the World, but at least everyone was shielded from the high winds whipping above. One particularly blustery night, Meche joined the other souls in the bowels of the ship, arms full of old rags she’d found in a closet. “Here,” she said, passing out the ones unstained from oil. “I’m sorry they don’t offer too much warmth, but I can keep looking until—”

A pair of little hands reached out to grasp the edge of her shawl. “Play with us, Meche!” said Bibi. Her brother was sitting at the other end of the circle with an elderly gentlemen, who Meche recognized but didn’t know by name. He seemed to be a master of deck-shuffling despite having only one arm. “Mister Gustavo is going to show us how to play poker!”

“Ah,” Meche said, wondering whether or not that particular game was appropriate for children. “You go on, Bibi.”

Bibi flew back to join her brother, and Gustavo dealt them in with the deck of tattered, hole-punched cards—the ones that once belonged to Manny. Meche observed warily as the decrepit man began to explain the rules in a low whisper.

“You don’t need to worry about Gus, love. He’s a good man,” came a rich voice from the circle sitting around the lantern. It was the singer, sitting comfortably with her husband asleep on her shoulder. She smiled and picked up the edge of her skirt to make room on the crate they were perched on. “Why don’t you take a break?”

Meche hesitated at first—surely she could find another lantern somewhere that would give off more heat—but the idea of sitting down did seem too good to pass up. She squeezed beside Silvia and her husband, shivering in the dim glow of the flame. “Thank you,” Meche said, wrapping her shawl more tightly around herself.

“You’re always running about, none of us have had the chance to hear your story,” the older woman said. Silvia didn’t need skin and hair to tell Meche that she had been a striking woman in her living days. She sat poised like a straight-backed pillar, but even then there was a gentleness in the way she allowed her lanky husband to snooze on her shoulder. “So, tell me about yourself, Miss Colomar.”

Meche knew her life story wasn’t nearly as flashy as being a travelling musician had probably been, but she gave Silvia the briefest description of her volunteer work—everything up until and including catching that terrible bout of chickenpox. “All I remember is the nurse coming in to give my medication.” Meche paused, recalling how strange she thought it had been for the nurse to be wearing a black, concealing hood. “And...well, that was that.”

“You were young, still,” said Silvia, reaching over to brush something off her husband’s forehead. “I always say that Ignacio and I were lucky to go together. Your husband hasn't died yet, has he?”

“I never married.”

Silvia’s eye sockets caught the light in a way that suggested skepticism. “I can't imagine you had a tough time attracting male attention.”

Meche shifted so the corner of the crate wasn't jabbing her tailbone. “The children needed me more than I needed a husband,” she said, biting back a remark about how up until this point, most men had never given her a reason to think they weren’t hungry for one thing.

“I admire you for that,” Silvia said, then with a short glance towards the _angelitos_ , she continued in a whisper, “It’s hard to believe we’re really off the Edge, yes?”

Meche had nearly forgotten that all these souls had had a vastly different imprisonment than she had in Domino’s hands. “How long had you and your husband been…?”

“Oh, you lose track after a while, don't you?” Silvia said, nudging her husband who woke with a snort. “How long had we been in the mines, _mi alma?”_

Ignacio scrunched up his bleary face. “Three years? Four? Maybe five.”

“You are no help,” she replied, fondly, before turning back to Meche. “The first day we were taken, Hurley broke Ignacio’s guitar across his knee.”

 _“Pandejo_ got what was coming,” mumbled Ignacio.

“But it is nice to sing again, isn't it? And Captain Calavera says we’re only a few days from port.”

Ignacio had not lifted his head during the course of the entire conversation, but he did so now, an looked directly at Meche. “How long have you known Manny?”

She was caught off-guard by the bluntness of the question. “Since I died, I suppose. He worked in the Department of Death before…” Meche paused. With all the talk of corruption and rebellion stirring in El Marrow—and the DOD at the heart of it—it was no wonder that she hadn’t gotten a straight story. “Honestly, I'm not exactly sure what happened to bring him here.”

“You're long time friends, then?” Ignacio pressed. “Do you trust him?”

Meche had to think about that one. “I've been wrong about him more times than was fair,” she settled on saying.

Ignacio pursed his mouth. “What's his plan, then? Once we get to Puerto Zapato, what next? How does this man and his demon friend expect to get us all to the Gates in one piece?”

“I...I don't know,” Meche admitted.

“It's a long walk through miles of wasteland, I hear,” he continued, voice climbing in pitch. “We are already scrounging for scraps and struggling to stay warm. We have no money to our names, and Hurley has taken everything else.”

“I know, but—”

“And even if we do make it to the end, how does Manny plan on getting us those tickets that were stolen from us?”

“Ignacio, that's _enough,”_ Silvia snapped.

Meche was suddenly released from the man’s penetrating gaze, and his bony hand went right to his ashamed face. “Forgive me, Miss Colomar,” he sighed, voice heavy. “I should not have spoken to you like that. I think I must be tired.”

She managed a kind smile, although his questions still burned hotly in her mind. _What was Manny’s plan, anyway?_

Meche stood up from the crate and went to the stairs.

“Oh, please don't go, Miss Colomar!” Ignacio called, reaching his arms out in a desperate attempt to coax her back.

“Now you've done it,” hissed his wife.

Meche turned to look over her shoulder, at least a dozen pairs of eye sockets locked on her. “I'm not offended, Ignacio,” she assured him. “But I do think our captain owes us some answers.”

* * *

The speed at which Glottis drove the ship sent high, frigid winds whipping across the deck, slicing right through the fabric of Meche’s wrap. His attempts to tone down his vocal enthusiasm during the night hours proved futile—Meche could catch his unmistakable bouts of cackling over the sound of thunderous waves. He certainly was a demon who craved speed like the living craved air. Meche gripped the stairway railing and dropped her head so the blast of wind wouldn’t whistle through her skull—a harmless but very annoying quirk that came with having empty eye sockets—and she slowly made her way towards the the captain’s office. She adjusted her shawl before knocking on the large, rusted door.

Immediately, there was a noise of surprise followed by a metallic _clang._ _“Hijo de puta!”_

“Uh, Manny?” Meche asked tentatively.

The door flung open, and Manny stood there panting, expression wild, one foot hovering off the floor. He had nixed his coat and had his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “Oh! Meche!” he said, as though he hadn’t expected to see her on the same boat. “I was just working...out.”

Meche calmly reached over to brush off a scrap of paper stuck to his forehead. “Did you fall asleep at the desk again?”

He grumbled something incoherent and limped aside to let her in.

The room was not so much of an office as it was a repurposed storage space. When they’d found it, it had been stuffed to the ceiling with moth-eaten bedding, boxes of broken lanterns, old newspapers, torn maps, and a dozen empty barrels which—judging by the rank odor—had probably once served to carry the ship’s catch of the day. The closet was hardly large enough to house Manny and a gargantuan demon like Glottis, but Manny had donated the main quarters to the women and _angelitos,_ since it was the warmest section of the ship.

With a little sprucing and a lot of organizing, Manny had turned the old closet into a fairly useable workspace. He’d distributed all the lanterns and blankets to the passengers and pushed everything else to the corners of the small room. The random assortment of mechanical debris Glottis seemed to trail behind him wherever he went littered the floor: the apparent culprit of the clatter and Manny’s favored foot. Meche had to step over stacks of torn books to get to Manny’s makeshift desk (three barrels pushed up side-by-side), which was laden with at least four maps, a lit lantern balanced precariously on top. A fire hazard, certainly, but that fact had not seemed to cross Manny’s mind.

“How can you see in this light?” she asked, bowing so she was an inch away from the tiny scrawl on the faded map that read “Sea of Lament.”

“Not well,” he replied. “But what I _can_ see is that we’re actually ahead of schedule. This time next week, this rusty bucket will be pulling into port.” Manny spread his hands in a “ta-da” sort of gesture and waited for a response. When Meche didn’t react beyond a delayed “oh”, he lowered his arms. “I mean, I guess we could stay on the boat, too, if you’d like that better,” he said.

“Oh, no,” Meche said quickly, sitting awkwardly on an overturned bucket, “the sooner we get off, the better.”

Manny chuckled, sweeping a few loose papers off his workspace. Meche caught sightings of his slanted handwriting decorating some of the scraps, which he crumpled and tossed onto the floor. He sat down behind the barrels, bone fingers folded loosely with polite expectancy. The whole image brought back immediate memories of a day years ago where Meche had been led into a similarly unkempt office. Judging by Manny’s knowing smirk, he was remembering that same day.

“Listen, Manny,” Meche began, launching into her speech before he had a chance to interrupt. If he did, she would surely lose her momentum. “We are all beyond grateful to you for getting us off the Edge, and we know that the journey ahead is going to be a difficult one. The souls are prepared for it. However,” she lifted her chin, “they’ve raised some concerns about what your plans are once we get to Puerto Zapato.”

After listening to her piece, Manny’s eye sockets squinted, then widened. He placed a hand worriedly to his mouth, and studied her face with ever-growing suspicion darkening his features. She stiffened as he leaned towards her, close enough that she could just make out the hairline crack snaking along his skull—a tiny souvenir from his final brawl with Domino. “Miss Colomar,” he uttered, voice a conspiratorial whisper, “have you been sent to start a _mutiny?”_

Meche huffed, more exasperated by how pleased Manny looked with himself than she was by his interruption. “I know your heart is in the right place,” she continued brazenly, “but have you considered the details?”

Manny was still grinning despite her irritation. “What details?”

 _“The details,”_ she repeated. “Details such as: do we have supplies for the journey? Some people in the group don’t even have a decent pair of shoes to wear. Do you expect them to trudge through the snow in their salt-eaten clothes? And with no food? I don’t want the children being forced to experience what starvation feels like.”

Surprise flashed over Manny’s face. “Woah, hold on,” he said, “I’m not going to let you or the kids starve.”

“It’s not about _me_ anymore.” Though her gaze had been wandering during the conversation, Meche finally let her sockets lock onto his. “I haven’t had it as bad as the miners. I barely thought about them.” Domino had put her up in a cozy office while sentencing the rest of the robbed souls to backbreaking mine work, and it wasn’t her fault, she knew. She was more useful to Domino as bait. Still, the thought still left her bones prickling with shame. “I just want to make sure everyone is taken care of.”

Manny absorbed her words, the flicker of yellow candlelight casting soft shadows along the concerned crease of his brow. “I get that you’re worried,” he said, fingers grazing against the crack in his skull thoughtfully. “And I guess I can’t say I’ve got _everything_ figured out yet. But I promised I would get you all to the Gates, didn’t I?”

Meche nodded slowly, doubting that he had _anything_ figured out beyond pulling the ship into port.

“Have I given you a reason not to trust me?”

“It’s not that,” she said, and searched the outstretched maps for an explanation. There was a ship metaphor in there somewhere, but she was having trouble piecing it together with that wind screaming outside the door, and the demon striving to match its pitch. As she felt the _Lamancha_ shift, a tiny push pin rolled by Meche’s fingertips, and she snatched it before it had the chance to roll off the edge of the barrel. “The destination is important,” she said, sticking the sharp end into the very center of the Sea of Lament, a red dot surrounded by an ocean of faded blue, “but so are the needs of the people you’re bringing there.”

Manny stared at the spot where she had stuck the pin, and then at her. She didn’t know why, but Meche suddenly felt quite on the spot. She had never seen Manny as an intense presence—he seemed more disheveled than anything with his shirt untucked and dark grooves under his eye sockets that suggested a lack of sleep. But the ardent tone of his voice suggested that he was serious.

“I’ll make sure everyone gets what they need in Puerto Zapato,” he promised. “We’ll make time to rest and stock up before the trip.”

Meche felt her shoulders relax. “Thank you, Manny.” She didn’t ask if he had the means to purchase supplies and accommodations, but maybe he was right. Maybe she could stand to let go of the reins a bit more.

“And,” Manny started, clearing his throat once before going on, “you don’t have to work so hard, you know.”

Meche stiffened again. “It’s not about working hard. I’m seeing to people’s needs. Who else is going to?” She paused. “Not that you haven’t done enough for them already. I just meant...you know...the practical things.” Meche groaned at herself. “I’m sorry, you know I don’t mean that.”

Manny scooted his chair back and squeezed around the barrels to rummage around in a crate, leaving Meche to stare impatiently at his back. He returned a few moments later to set two short glasses on the map, uncorked a bottle—which was coated in a layer of white dust—and filled each one with a finger of amber liquid. Manny leaned against one of the barrels, so with her in the chair, they were almost at eye-level.

“I originally went to the Edge to find _you,”_ he said, gaze flicking along the frayed ends of her shawl. “I wouldn’t call myself a very good captain if one of my passengers wasn’t getting enough rest. You don’t have to _do_ anything anymore.”

Meche took the proffered glass but didn’t drink, doing her best to ignore the sudden flush of heat in her face that had nothing to do with flame eating at the wick in the lantern. “I appreciate the concern, but someone always needs something and I have the means to provide it, no matter how small.”

The corner of Manny’s mouth twitched, and he raised his cup as though to hide it. “Well, I guess that’s why you’ve qualified for a Number-Nine ticket, and why you’re now experiencing our Golden Travel Package reserved for only the saintliest of souls.”

Meche raised her own drink to her mouth. “Oh?” she mused. “And what does the Golden Travel Package entail?”

“You’re looking at a first-class cruise across crystalline waters,” Manny said, his voice emulating the fast-paced nature of a car salesman—a voice that came to him as naturally as captaining a ship did. “Complete with tropical beverages—” Manny topped her off with a flourish, “—and personal serenades sung twenty-four hours a day.”

On cue, the jolly belt of Glottis’ voice trickled down from the floor above:

_“OH, MY BOAT’S GOT A RUSTY ANCHOR,_

_AS RUSTY AS SHE CAN BE,_

_EVERY PORT I GO I DROP HER,_

_BUT SHE ALWAYS COME BACK TO ME.”_

Manny raised his cup towards the ceiling in salute. “Keep the high-paying patrons happy, _carnal!”_

Meche laughed and played along. “And what about Puerto Zapato? I hear it’s _lovely_ this time of year.”

“For souls as good as you?” Manny said, and took her by the hand to swing her to her feet. “Puerto Zapato is hopping all night long!”

A giggle escaped without Meche’s consent—she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d _giggled_ , and it felt ridiculous—and she hastily slipped her hands out of his. “Oh, no, I’m not much of a dancer.”

Manny faltered at the loss of her touch, but the moment quickly passed. “Well don’t you worry, Miss Colomar, because non-dancers are given our very best package of all,” he said smoothly, hopping right onto the next perk with hardly a hitch. “You get days-long uninterrupted sleep in one of our patented beds—as soft as a cloud, guaranteed! Now, does that sounds like a good deal, or what?”

Meche settled back down with her chipped glass, and could almost feel the stifling warmth of a comforter over her head. “That sounds like a deal too good to be true,” she replied, taking a sip of whiskey that ignited in her mouth.

Manny chuckled and finished his drink, easing out of the Salesman voice as he settled on a barrel. It made her wonder how many hats he had hanging in his repertoire, and if one day he’d give her the whole story.

“Just wait,” Manny said, raising his glass in a toast. “I’m gonna get you and the others the rewards you deserve.”

Meche clinked her cup against his. “As long as you weren’t lying about those beds.”

The evening passed in a pleasant blur of sipping drinks and shooting the breeze, all while sitting in the cramped confines of Manny’s office. Meche was surprised at how easily conversation blossomed between them, and the light buzz of the drink made the lulling silences bearable, even comfortable. When the last drop of whiskey was gone and the hour grew late, Meche excused herself to bed, and without prompt, Manny donned his coat to walk her to the room. It was only a staircase away at most, but that didn’t seem to daunt Manny as he led the way out of the warm office into the whipping winds and up the short staircase.

When they reached the splintered door and could hear the chorus of snoring from the other side, Meche turned to face him, the ends of her shawl slapping gently against her legs. She knew she hadn’t had too much liquor—there hadn’t been an excessive amount in that bottle Manny had dug up, anyway—but she couldn’t get rid of the lightheaded-ness that usually followed a few drinks. She gripped her shawl and hesitated.

“Goodnight, Miss Colomar,” Manny said, puncturing the thick silence with a disarming smile. Before she could wish him the same, he descended the staircase, hands in pockets, whistling along to whatever cheerful tune Glottis was belting into the overcast night.

Meche stood there for a minute longer, watching Manny’s silhouette disappear into his room, and she couldn’t shake the strangest notion that she should have kissed him goodnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading/following, and super special thanks to my beta reader purplepanther101 for her mountains of help all the time forever.
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment if you're liking the story so far!! They make my day!! I'm just so glad to finally be writing some Manny/Meche, and exploring some of the other souls involved in the exodus was fun too. More of that on the way~
> 
> It looks like this update came about a month after the last one, so let's say I'll update AT LEAST once a month (I've got a ton of other projects/fics in the works at the moment because I'm insane, but I promise to keep everything rolling!)


	9. Black Dove

The day the _Lamancha_ pulled into Puerto Zapato, everyone on board was prepared to leap off the boat and kiss the surface of the salt-swept docks. Glottis slowed the speeding ship with expert precision, halting it just before the bow brushed against port, and a great cheer rose up from the seasick souls. To think, just a few weeks prior, they had been just as thrilled to get on the ship, and now they were equally as desperate to get off.

“Good going, Glottis!” Manny called up from the deck. “Drop anchor, if you please!”

The little port town twinkled like its own sky against the cloudy Sea of Lament. Buildings of brick and concrete peppered the rocky shore in shades of turquoise, orange-reds and golden-yellows, illuminated by stringed lights dangling from high windows and lampposts. The market was packed with people who didn’t seem to mind the wintery chill, and they bustled about the shops, zigzagging along the cobblestone. The souls aboard the _Lamancha_ caught whiffs of fried dough and spice and were stirred by the overwhelming scents and swaying sounds of civilization. Puerto Zapato practically glittered, framed by the soft jaws of snow-covered mountains.

Meche joined the _angelitos_ at the railing to watch the anchor plunge into the ocean, wincing as they were sprayed with seawater. For as much as Meche used to fantasize about adventuring on the high seas, she had now experienced enough of the ocean to last her a dozen lifetimes. She was ready to scrub the layers of salt from her bones and collapse into a warm bed, and she was certain that the rest of the crew felt the same. Some of the souls still had mossy growths of algae clinging to their clothes—Meche was convinced that Gustavo had a crab living in his skull—and if anyone was deserving of a bath and a hot meal, it was the ex-miners. The _angelitos_ flew in eager figure-eights above everyone’s heads, giggling in their unbridled excitement.

“Are we there _yet?”_ Pugsy asked, though the answer was obvious. He and Bibi had been keeping up a steady chant of “are we there yet?” for the last few miles, and it was relieving to know that this would be the last time Meche would hear the question. She nodded, and they responded with cheers and aerial backflips.

“Not so high, children!” she chided, although she would have been lying if she said she wasn’t itching to touch down on land, too. The crew chatted excitedly as the boat came to a shuddering stop at its final destination.

“I can hardly believe it,” came the voice of Ignacio as he joined the others at the rails. He had one hand clamped down on his hat to ensure the wind wouldn’t sweep it away, which had proven to be a regular occurrence on the _Lamancha_. “What’s the verdict, captain? Can we go down?”

Manny and Glottis had descended the steps of the control room, and all heads were craned hopefully in their direction.

“Well,” mused Manny, and with a pipe clamped between his teeth, he looked fully realized as a captain addressing his crew. “I don’t see why not.”

There was a buzz of delighted consent, but Meche felt a red flag waving on the edge of her consciousness. She slipped around the celebrations so she could pull Manny aside and whisper, “Do you think it’s wise to let everyone wander about? We don’t even have a place to stay for the night. How do we know we won’t have to shepherd everyone back onto the boat?”

“I’ll find us a place,” said Manny with ease, and Meche suddenly noticed that the pipe he was chomping on was empty. And unlit. “There’s nothing wrong with letting everyone stretch their sea legs.”

He lifted a finger to ask for a moment, ducking amiably around her to crouch down and help Ignacio unwind the mooring rope on her other side.

Meche glanced back at the group, and Glottis obviously thought she looked apprehensive because he clapped a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Aw, you don’t gotta worry, Miss Colomar. Manny’s just the best at getting stuff. He can talk his way in and out of anything!” He shot an unsuspecting Manny a wink. “You should’ve seen the way he turned every table back in Rubacava, and there was no way we would have found you if Manny hadn’t weaseled us onto a boat. I don’t know _how_ he managed to get us those fake ID’s—” another conspicuous wink just as Manny tuned back in and realized what Glottis was insinuating, “—but that just shows ya how good he is at swindling–”

 _“Ooh_ -kay, Glottis!” Manny interjected, standing up suddenly and glancing at Meche with a nervous chuckle. “I’m not some sort of con-artist, _amigo_. I’m just going ask the dockmaster if he knows about a place that can take us for the night. No bribes, no fake ID’s,” he glared pointedly at the demon, “just straight-edged transaction of information between two law-abiding gentlemen.”

Meche sighed, looking again at the pointless captain’s pipe sticking out of Manny’s mouth. “Just do what you need to do,” she said.

When they looked at her with skepticism, she added a tad defensively, “Well, there’s no need to look so _surprised.”_

Manny immediately adjusted his flabbergasted expression. “Sorry, it's just that...you might not _approve_ of the way I handle things,” he said, averting his attention to the un-swabbed deck. “My boss used to call me ‘Mr. Unconventional’, amongst other things.”

Before anyone could ask just _what_ other things Manny used to be called, Meche reached over and plucked Manny’s pipe from between his teeth. There was something amusing about watching him squirm for a moment. “I trust your judgment,” she said, wiping a fleck of soot off the pipe before handing it back. “Just don't be long.”

He stuck the stick-end back into his mouth with a grin. “Aye-aye, captain.”

Assisted by a few of the more able-bodied souls on board, Glottis lowered the ramp for Manny to make his way to the seaside town. Meche and the crew kept their sights glued on him as he strut down the dock and was immediately approached by a man brandishing a large black book. The two spent a few minutes in animated conversation, occasionally nodding towards the eagerly awaiting _Lamancha_.

Then, Manny whistled sharply, and Glottis jumped to attention.

“Captain gave us the go-ahead!” he bellowed, already ushering the souls towards the ramp. _“We’re getting churros!”_

“Everyone, keep Glottis in sight!” Meche added, stumbling as she was swept up in the rush towards freedom. “Stay together, please!”

Glottis led the way down the ramp and onto the rickety docks-–the _angelitos_ grasped old Gus by his coat collar, flapping their wings wildly, and hauled him to the front of the line. An unmistakable bark of laughter escaped the old man as they plopped him onto the cobblestone streets. “Hurry up, y’old bags of bones!” he barked to the others. “We ain’t got all night!”

If Meche hadn’t been preoccupied with keeping everyone within her line of vision, she would have marveled at how the solid ground supported her weight without laying her at the mercy of the rolling waves. Walking on land with her hard-earned sea legs was proving nearly as treacherous as her first few days on the ship without them. She paused for the briefest moment to glance back at the faded lettering of the _Lamancha_ , hardly sad to leave it bobbing in the sea.

“Woah, _niños_ , there’s plenty for everyone!” sang a shopkeeper, chuckling as he handed out sticks of fried dough that smelled of cinnamon and sugar. Bibi and Pugsy, along with the only teenaged soul on board (Meche had heard him called “Diego”) gobbled up their churros in two monstrous bites each, immediately pestering Glottis for another handful of coins so they could buy a second bag of treats. The demon looked extremely conflicted—all three pairs of shimmering eye sockets were lingering hopefully on him—but at Meche’s firm prompting, he resisted their childish charms.

“We need to save what we have for the inn,” Meche told him in an undertone as the kids skipped off to observe another vender twisting balloon animals together.

Glottis nodded his heavy head. “Yeah…yeah, you’re right, Miss Colomar. I know I gotta be better at that, after Manny entrusted me to watch you and all…”

She suddenly felt quite shamed for berating him so. It seemed that every word out of her mouth was surrounded by a cloud of bitter smoke.

Their group must have appeared very out of place at the lively port. Where the locals were draped with vibrant patterns, Manny’s crew was draped in faded, sea-eaten rags. Still, Meche had never seen the souls so eager as they ran to try the spicy hot chocolate or watch the fire dancers in the streets. As she tugged at the fraying ends of her thin shawl, Meche vaguely wondered where Manny could be, and if he was having as much success claiming accommodations as he said he would. She was prone to worry, but even moreso now that the souls seemed to have gained new life since stepping off the boat. She would hate to be the one to usher them back onto it.

“You hungry, Miss Colomar?” asked Glottis. The air around him always seemed to vibrate whenever he spoke. He was munching on something he’d extracted from one of his paper bags spotted with grease.

“Has everyone else eaten?” Meche asked automatically.

Glottis squinted above their wayward crowd, which was easy since he stood twice as tall as everyone on the streets. “'Think so,” he said, and reached into one bag to extract a corn husk. Meche took it in her hands, melting at the warmth that spread through her fingers, and carefully unwrapped the husk from the savory filling within. She was hit with steam and, gingerly, took a bite.

It may have been the weather or the long journey, but Meche thought it was the best _tamale_ she’d ever had.

“Good, huh?” Glottis asked.

She could only nod, her mouth too full to answer, and they walked the streets in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Glottis always looked so at ease—jolly, even—and it was no wonder he was so well-liked on board. He bumbled down the frosted walkways, licking the powdered sugar from his claws and saying “Evenin’!” to every soul they crossed. He was so open to the world, and his fearless interaction with it made Meche wish she had an ounce of his friendliness.

“You’re wonderful with the children, Glottis,” Meche told him. In fact, Glottis had grown to be the favorite place for the children to curl up and nap when the night winds were raging, going so far as to choose him over the shelter of the captain’s quarters. “You must forgive my curtness sometimes,” she continued. “You and Manny are very kind, regardless.”

He blinked his beady eyes in her direction. “Aw. No worries. You’re just trying to help everyone out. Manny knows that.”

“I don’t know how much help I am fretting about,” she said, trying not to sound self-deprecating. “I’ve noticed the way Manny interacts with the crew. He's very comfortable in his position, isn't he?"

“I known Manny goin’ on four years,” said Glottis, giving a short whistle through his teeth as though he’d never thought about the timeline before. “And let me tell ya, Manny’s in his element. He loves helpin’ people and gettin’ them where they need to go.”

Meche folded the now-empty corn husk in her hands with some clumsiness. She could hardly boast about her personal relations skills, and always thought that she had done her part in seeing to the needs of the souls on board. But seeing Manny—who had enough on his plate orchestrating the entire trip—talking to every soul like an old friend...it made her unsure of her own methods. Even with all her years of service in the Land of the Living, she had never opened herself up to that extent. Service had always been just that: a way to do good. Manny was the opposite, and always looked content to chat with the crew rather than worry himself sick over where the next meal was coming from.

That’s what Meche was missing, and though she remained unsure whether she was ready to crack open her ribcage and expose her still-battered heart to the others, she knew that she could stand to take a small step in that direction.

“I realize, Glottis,” she said, “that I know very little about you.”

Glottis _hmed_ and scratched the tiny tuft of reddish hair on his head. “Ya wanna know about me?”

Maybe she had asked too broad of a question. Was it too much to be forcing interaction this way? “If you please,” she said. “I want to be...friends.”

At first she felt silly for saying it so bluntly–so childishly. But the way his grin broadened to show her his mouthful of razor-sharp teeth made her glow with pleasure. “I’d _love_ to be your friend, Miss Colomar,” Glottis said.

“Call me Meche, please,” she said kindly, to which he just blushed.

* * *

 

The next hours passed in chilly bliss, and the streets continued celebrating the winter night even when the _Lamancha_ crew began to drag their feet. The moon rose high in the sky, the fire dancers danced, and the bands played on. Meche yanked the corners of her torn shawl, though it did very little against the rapidly dropping temperatures. Glottis didn’t seem to mind the cold and ambled towards the rickety docks where the black waters lapped at the wood. Meche thought she’d rather sleep out in the snow than spend one more night on the waters.

“What’s the plan, Glottis?” someone asked from the shivering crowd. “Where’s the captain?”

Glottis stuck his hands on his hips and squinted through the thick smoke rising from the cookfires. “He sure is taking a while, ain’t he?” he mused.

Ignacio, arms wrapped around his shivering wife, huffed. “You think Manny got jumped or something? Heard he’s got more’n a few enemies.”

 _“Jumped?”_ said Glottis, eyes widening in genuine concern. “Y-you think LeMan’s guys could have caught up with us?”

Meche quickly patted his arm. “Now Glottis, there’s no need to panic. He could just be running late.”

“Why did the captain go on his own?” someone asked. “You think one of us should have gone with him?”

Glottis let out a mournful wail, so loud that everyone in his proximity flinched. “Oh, _Manny!”_ he cried. “What have I done? Why'd I letcha go off all alone? What kind of friend am I?!”

Meche did her best to console the demon, all the while thinking about how they had missed that one, crucial detail. Why hadn’t _she_ offered to accompany Manny? Why hadn’t _he_ asked someone to come with him? Glottis had told her all about their dealings with the DOD, so of course he would have needed backup of _some_ kind. Right?

“It’s not your fault, Glottis,” Meche told him, sounding much calmer than she felt. “Oh, please don’t cry.”

“Everything okay, _amigo?”_

Meche swung around at the familiar voice, Manny’s form emerging from the cookfire steam like a shadow. She could have sighed with relief, had she a sigh in her lungs. She also could have hit him.

“And where have _you_ been?” she demanded, decidedly angry on Glottis’ behalf.

Manny appeared positively pleased with himself. There were murmurs of welcome, and a cry of relief from the demon, who immediately swept Manny up into a bone-crushing hug. “Don’t you do that again!” he growled with affection before setting him back down. Manny wobbled on the spot, looking quite ruffled and a little embarrassed. Meche would have laughed if she was not still irked at him.

“Sorry I’m late,” Manny coughed, brushing the wrinkles from his wool coat. “I’ve been hauling up and down the docks all night, but I’ve finally got us a spot at the inn.” They followed his gesture to the wide-set stone building across the way, smoke billowing cheerfully from the chimney.

“Is there room for everyone?” Silvia asked, craning her head to count the souls, and giving up halfway. “There is a good three dozen of us at least.”

Manny nodded. “It might be tight, and we’ve got to be out by dawn. But there’s heat and beds, and the owner even threw in breakfast.”

While the crowd uttered notes of disbelief, Manny inclined his head to Glottis and Meche, and said in an undertone, “It’s not long, but I figured one night was better than nothing. Gives us time to rest up, and, you know, there’s a long walk ahead of us…”

“We’re not getting any warmer, Captain!” called Gus, and Manny flashed the crowd a look of confidence.

“Follow me, good souls, to your accommodations,” he said.

He led them away from the docks and across the cobblestone streets. The excited hubbub of conversation flowed behind as Meche fell into step beside Manny-–he may have had short legs, but he was a brisk walker. She leaned down to whisper, “How did you do this?”

“It’s like I said, Meche: straight-edged style.”

She wove her hand around his elbow, not buying it. “And how did you _really_ do this?”

She could feel Manny’s arm stiffen briefly under the sleeve of his coat, and he angled it to create a crook for her grip. “I...traded the boat.”

Meche nearly stopped in her tracks and would have if she wasn’t afraid of someone running into her from behind. She wasn’t aware that one could trade a boat, period, and wasn’t sure it was prudent to inquire about what exactly he’d traded it for. Whatever it was, he didn’t seem inclined to discuss it with the company of souls around.

Meche readjusted her grip on his elbow. “Well, let us know how long you’ll be gone next time,” she said. “In case you didn’t notice, Glottis was in bits.”

She could feel his attention on her face like a spotlight, and she kept her gaze fixed on the lodge.

“Aw, were you worried about me?” came his smug little query.

She plainly ignored him. He was still grinning when they went inside.

Manny’s crew alone filled the far reaches of the lobby. It was an expansive one, too, adorned with brightly woven tapestries and squashy armchairs set up beside one of the biggest brick fireplaces Meche had ever seen. There was mild chaos as she broke away from the anchor of Manny’s arm to help the frazzled, round innkeeper distribute blankets and keys to rooms-–the woman looked more than a little confused when the souls told her they had no bags to bring up. Most bid their “goodnights” right away, but a third of the group remained seated around the fire, wrapped in handmade blankets that almost radiated with color next to the desaturated greys and pale greens of their clothes.

It was in Meche’s nature to hover and check that every mug was filled and every individual was wrapped in something toasty. But even her old habits began to melt away as the comfortable murmurings of conversation filled the lobby. When Ignacio caught sight of a guitar perched beside the hearth, he went straight for it. Pretty soon, the sharp _twangs_ of its strings joined the mix of voices in a soft crescendo, and the man who was usually so prone to complain looked at ease raking his thumb across the strings. Silvia sat perched at his left, swaying back and forth while she hummed along to his jaunty, melancholy tune.

Meche sank onto a vacant loveseat where she could listen to the music. From there, she saw the entire circle of souls, including the corner where Glottis had already fallen asleep, Bibi and Pugsy curled up like kittens on his massive chest. They rose and fell with every great snore, Silvia’s rich voice serenading them like a lullaby:

 

 _“_ _Ya me canso de llorar y no amanece,_

_Ya no sé si maldecirte o por ti rezar_

_Tengo miedo de buscarte y de encontrarte…”_

 

Meche recognized the tune as something her _mama_ used to hum when she thought no one was listening. The melody echoed from a place of great longing, like a chasm in her empty chest.

 

_“Y agarraste por tu cuenta la parranda_

_Paloma negra, paloma negra ¿dónde, dónde andarás?”_

 

Meche was so absorbed in Silvia’s rendition that she jumped when she felt something fall across her shoulders. She craned around to see Manny behind the sofa, hands up, caught.

“Ah, sorry,” he said quickly. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

He had draped something across her neck, and Meche glanced down at the tiny tassels of yarn tickling her lap. The shawl was thick, crocheted in a simple pattern in hues of purple and embellished with marigold.

“For...me?” she asked.

For some reason Manny found her stunned reaction amusing. “For you,” he reiterated, and came around to sit beside her. “Warmer now?”

In fact, heat had risen to her cheekbones. “I…”

Manny, noting her hesitation, added, “Everyone’s all got warmer duds and better shoes for tomorrow, plus some supplies to last us a bit. You don't need to feel guilty for taking this.”

She’d found her voice again, “I expect you’ll give me an earful if I refuse it?”

“Something like that.”

Meche pulled off the torn shawl she’d been wearing previously and tossed it, wrapping herself more tightly in the new one. Oh. It _was_ warm. Warmer than anything she’d owned in death. She was almost embarrassed to think that weeks ago she was complaining about a pair of silk stockings—the ones probably still sitting at the bottom of the trash can in Domino’s factory. She sighed into the wrap and didn't care that it was out loud.

“Thank you,” she told Manny, and after a moment added, “For everything. You really came through.”

Manny’s eye sockets trapped the firelight for a moment. “Don’t thank me ‘till I've got you all to the Gates,” he said, and the way he patted his chest suggested that he was looking for a box of cigarettes that was long-empty. He looked weary—which was rare, considering he always seemed to carry that borderline-annoying air of overconfidence. Meche wished she had a smoke to spare him.

“That could be months,” she said.

“Yeah, but don’t remind the kiddos that.” He chuckled. “They started crying when I told ‘em.”

Meche put this comment aside for now, as it was low on the list of importance. They sat side-by-side, listening to Silvia sing, her voice rough with tenderness:

 

_“Quiero ser libre vivir mi vida con quien yo quiera_

_Díos dame fuerza que me estoy muriendo por irlo a buscar.”_

 

“Kind of a downer isn’t it?” said Manny, puncturing Meche’s thoughts like a bubble.

“My _mama_ used to sing it,” she replied with some defense. “I think it’s beautiful.”

 _“There are times when I’d like to die and release myself from this suffering,”_ Manny translated. He looked down at himself, at his bony hands, as though suddenly realizing that he was, in fact, dead. He gasped.

Meche prodded his shin with her toe. “It’s a song about heartache. It’s _supposed_ to be a little melancholy.”

“It’s about some _cabrón_ who led this girl on,” said Manny, flicking his hand dismissively. Then he said a little louder, “He doesn’t deserve you, little dove! Fly away, be free!”

Meche shushed him out of respect for the musicians, and she was determined not to let him see her smile.

When the song had reached its end, Manny began a round of low applause, to which the circle readily joined in. Gus whistled loudly through his teeth, and Meche thought it a miracle that the children didn’t wake. With the room enraptured, Ignacio struck a new chord, bony fingers plucking a smooth, minor swing.

“It’s been so long since you’ve played, _mi amor,”_   Silvia purred, standing from her spot to twirl on the creaky hardwood. The fire crackled behind her, sending vibrant shadows frolicking across her torn skirts. Before the song had reached its chorus, most of the room had joined Silvia on the makeshift dance floor. They twirled their partners around, the balmy tones of Ignacio’s guitar casting the whole lobby under a wintery spell.

Manny had his elbows resting on his knees, only half-watching the dancers. He may have been in his element, as Glottis had put it, but he had to be worried about the impending journey. While the crew had been off spending their evening enjoying the port town, Manny had been running himself ragged to provide shelter and supplies enough for their band of souls. The weight of the underworld must have lay on his shoulders, and yet he’d still spared a moment to replace her old wrap. Meche felt foolish for thinking he had it all together.

What he needed—what _she_ needed too, she realized—was someone to carry that weight with.

Meche stood, and offered Manny her hand. “Come on,” she urged softly.

He looked at it, then at her, as though checking for a sign of jest. She gave him none, and waited with expectancy. She hoped that Manny was not the type to scoff at a lady making the first move. Finally, he took her hand and they joined the others on the dance floor. Meche rested her opposite hand lightly on his shoulder, and his went to her back. It was odd to reach down instead of up to hold her dance partner, but she admitted that the two fit well together.

The guitar guided them into a slow rumba, and Manny fumbled over the first few steps. “Been a while…” he muttered, readjusting his grip to settle high on her waist. The ends of her woven wrap hid his fingers like a veil.

“Just focus on the rhythm,” Meche said, hips rotating slightly back as he pressed forward. “Smooth and easy.”

Manny caught on quickly, the steps returning to him as they glided through the space. She was reminded of a dance she shared with Domino back on the cruise ship—it felt like a lifetime ago—and there was no line to draw a comparison to. While Domino had steered her about the room like a ship looking for a place to dock, Manny seemed hesitant to step into the role of leader. Once he had a grip on where to step and with some helpful prodding from Meche, Manny’s eyeline finally engaged hers with newfound assurance. Fondness, even. They ebbed towards each other only to pull away, like waves teasing the shoreline. Meche felt shivers race through her bones whenever his fingers gripped her back with more certainty, whenever their legs swished against one another, or when their foreheads barely brushed.

“You’ve got it,” she said just as Manny gave her a tiny spin.

“Thanks to you,” he said, and his tone implied that he meant more than to just thank her for the dance.

Even when the song ended, Manny and Meche remained where they were, ignorant to the applause that washed around them like an afterthought. Manny didn’t just need someone to make sure the group had warm clothes and comfortable sleeping arrangements. He needed a partner he could trust—someone to guide his steps and follow his lead when the time came. Likewise, Meche didn’t need a leader dragging her across the floor, and she knew for a fact that the lost souls were not keen on electing another Domino. What she needed was someone to drape a shawl around her shoulders when the room was chilly, someone to crack a joke when she was too caught up in the details. What she needed was a friend.

Maybe it was time to allow themselves that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally, a chapter in which everyone just has a Nice Time.
> 
> *Silvia is singing "Paloma Negra", or "Black Dove", ayyyyyyyyyyyyy  
> *the dance Manny and Meche are doing is a slow rumba (delicious and sensual, ooh la la), and i was inspired by a scene from "Chocolat": https://youtu.be/U5wTppXm60c
> 
> thanks for reading!


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